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THE 

GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES 

OF VIRGIL 

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY 

THEODORE CHICKERING WILLIAMS 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 




CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD 

Oxford University Press 

1915 






COPYRIGHT, 1915 
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 



4/~ 

QEC -6 1915 

©CI.A420068 



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THE 

GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES 

OF VIRGIL 



INTRODUCTION 

A peculiar pathos attaches to artistic work inter- 
rupted by death. Three weeks before Mr. Williams 
died he said to me joyfully, "I have reached the 
end of my Georgics and Eclogues. Of course all 
needs revision, and to that I shall at once address 
myself. But I wrote the last line today.' ' It was 
too true. He never wrote another. His twenty 
years' companionship with Virgil was ended. 

To this august and elusive poet he was early 
drawn, perhaps by a certain kinship of nature. In 
every time of fatigue, anxiety or affliction — and 
such times befell this eager and joyous spirit by no 
means rarely — Virgil became his refuge and solace. 
Turning a few pages of his sensitive Latin into his 
own hardly less sensitive English freed him from 
annoyance. In the Virgil classes of his two schools 
he had opportunity to try the effects of his work on 
young and groping minds. Accordingly, when in 
1907, he published through the Houghton Mifflin 
Company his version of the Aeneid, it was at once 
acclaimed as an extraordinary performance. In a 
greater degree than any other translation of Virgil 
it harmonizes the conflicting claims of poetry and 
scholarship. One reads it as an English poem, 
heedless of a constraining original; yet the many 
shades of that original are reflected here with a full- 
ness and accuracy unequalled even in prose. The 

3 



4 INTRODUCTION 

unit of meaning is not the single word, but the 
word in its connections, the sentence, sometimes 
the paragraph. The schoolboy may not be able to 
match words with Virgil, but Virgil employed 
words to convey a certain significance and beauty; 
the test of translation, as Williams understood it, 
is whether the English mind receives that signifi- 
cance and beauty. To reproduce the Latin means 
of conveying an impression, without conveying the 
impression itself, was, in Williams' judgment, pe- 
dantic folly. As a poet he felt, and could make 
others feel, the subtle suggestions of poetry, and he 
had lived so long with Latin that for him it had 
ceased to be a dead language. He wrote it, spoke 
it, thought in it. After reading a passage of Virgil, 
he could hold it in memory and could try render- 
ings of it as he walked the streets. Love, therefore, 
a passion for beauty, and sympathy with an exalted 
thinker, have had more to do with shaping his ver- 
sion of the Aeneid than grammar or dictionary. 

Naturally the piece to which Williams first ad- 
dressed himself was that which embodies Virgil's 
maturest mind. When this was fully explored, he 
turned to study more minutely the stages through 
which that mind had passed. Fully recognizing 
the immaturity of the Georgics and Eclogues, he 
found them interesting on this very account, and 
believed others might find them so if he could pre- 
sent them properly. To that endeavor he gave all 
the time he could command during the last seven 
years of his life. Could he have had six months 



INTRODUCTION 5 

more, all would have been brought to the standards 
of his own exacting taste. 

Receiving his papers, I have merely attempted to 
set them in order for the press. After correcting 
the usual copyist's errors, I have chosen among the 
multitude of alternative readings those which 
seemed best to accord with Williams' mind, re- 
gardless of my own. His and my methods of com- 
position are so unlike that I soon found it useless to 
attempt such a revision as he himself had planned. 
The taste of one writer cannot wisely be superposed 
on that of another. I am no Latinist, and patching 
such artistry at any one spot involved operations 
too wide either for my powers or my sense of right- 
ful ownership. I have left the work, therefore, 
substantially as I found it. Through and through 
it is his. 

Williams' estimate of Virgil is well stated in the 
preface to the Library edition of his Aeneid. In the 
preface to the Riverside edition he has stated it 
again. The earlier piece seems to me a more just 
and illuminating criticism of Virgil's strength and 
weakness than any of equal length with which I am 
acquainted. While acknowledging the enormous 
extent of Virgil's borrowings, he believed them to 
be shaped by a highly individual personality with 
a view to ends of its own. His fullest comment on 
the Georgics and Eclogues, and his indication of 
their place in the total scheme of Virgil's life, is 
best given in one of his unpublished papers. A 
summary of this will form an appropriate introduc- 
tion to the present volume. 



6 INTRODUCTION 

Virgil learned poetic craftsmanship under Alex- 
andrine tutors, with whom scholarly reproduction 
of the literature of the past had superseded all 
desire for original creation. Plagiarism was system- 
atized and honorable. We can best understand 
such ideals if we recall similar conditions in the Age 
of Elizabeth. To England the Renaissance came 
late and was already much more advanced on the 
Continent. Accordingly the English sonneteers of 
that day, seeing abundant beauty elsewhere, drew 
more than half their material from the riches of 
France and Italy. Still more submissive to foreign 
influence was Latin poetry in Virgil's time; for the 
Romans had less poetic impulse than the English, 
and the inherited beauty stored in Greece was still 
more overwhelming. 

Among the traditional Greco-Roman themes was 
that of the idealized country. In the country it was 
thought one might lead the simple life; casting off 
the complex artificialities of the city, one might 
there experience elemental pleasures. Almost 
every age dreams such a dream and immediately 
proceeds to falsify it. The simplicity of the coun- 
try is rude; the poet who presents it is tempted to 
adorn. Life in a cottage easily becomes a masquer- 
ade, with its own set of conventions more rigid and 
artificial than those of the city itself. No form of 
poetry is so unreal, so manifestly absurd as the 
finished pastoral. Occasionally it has furnished a 
good enough opportunity for the practice of youth- 
ful pens, as in the case of Spenser, Milton, and Pope. 



INTRODUCTION 7 

But when employed by mature writers — as by 
Gray in the Elegy, Shenstone in the Pastoral Ballad, 
and Arnold in Thyrsis — it is apt to be trans- 
formed into something quite different, through the 
body of personal emotion which fills it. 

Virgil's pastorals are both young and old. Genius 
and folly are intimately associated in them. For 
the most part they were written in Virgil's youth, 
when he was fascinated by Theocritus and was 
gaining flexibility of style by practising the literary 
modes of his day. They are his school-exercises, 
which have been taken far too seriously by pos- 
terity. Hardly any other body of ancient verse so 
small has exercised so large, and so doubtfully 
beneficial, an influence over the poetry of aftertime. 
But there is more in them than pleasing folly. 
Virgil was a genuine lover of the country, and his 
Eclogues contain delightful touches of nature. They 
abound too in skilful phrases, such as men like to 
remember and to quote. And then there are 
compassions and sympathies here which are truly 
Virgil's own and do not belong to the poets whom 
he imitates. Where before Virgil had pity ap- 
peared ? With him it is everywhere. He knows 
the farmer's meagre lot. He hears the exile's bitter 
cry. The pangs of disprized love he paints with 
more truth than the pastoral requires. The perish- 
ing affairs of mortals move him to tears, yet do not 
breed despair. He is no pessimist. Better condi- 
tions are ever waiting. In the ardor of his hope and 
pity he is more allied with the Christian than with 



8 INTRODUCTION 

the Greek temper. This Christianizing temper of 
pitying expectancy comes to fullest expression in 
the Fourth Eclogue. 

This brief piece forms one of the notable enigmas 
of literature. To see in it a heralding of the Christ, 
as the Middle Ages did, is to perceive too much and 
to be too definite. To say with the German scholar 
that it is mere complimentary verse on the birth of 
a friend's child is to be no less erroneously definite. 
Who the infant was we had better not inquire, nor 
from what source the messianic adumbrations were 
drawn. Rome was pretty fully acquainted with 
oriental religions. What deserves attention is the 
young poet's faith. 

In these sixty lines a prophetic vision is presented 
of a race which after ages of sin and sorrow is to be 
restored to primal innocence and joy. Nor is this 
a merely political forecast of a Roman empire at 
peace. Supernatural agencies here produce super- 
natural results. The new world will indeed have a 
just government and be without war; but it will 
also be without the husbandman and the trader, 
without the corruption of the arts; the earth will 
feed mankind as the free gift of heaven, and the 
gods will once more mingle with men. This con- 
summation is the appointed end of a mysterious 
" process of the suns." From all eternity the world 
has been under a beneficent divine plan. The 
happy season, so near at hand, is the fulfilment of 
everlasting decrees of destiny and Jove. In Virgil's 
vision, no less than in Isaiah's, is implied a dra- 



INTRODUCTION 9 

matic conception of the moral government of the 
universe. He shared, it is true, the opinion of his 
age and placed a state of nature and innocence in 
the remote past. But the forward-looking victori- 
ous note is his also. He is ever both scholar and 
prophet. The restoration of those vanished glories 
is to be the achievement of divine men, of a divine 
man, a savior. 

No wonder then that the Middle Ages counted 
him a sacred poet, since his constant mood of pity- 
ing expectancy culminates in the conception of a 
savior of mankind. Christianity was not in error 
in reverencing his ardent supernaturalism, his 
trust in a divine order of government evolved 
through cycles of pre-appointed time, and his exal- 
tation of a Prince of Peace. But his non-Christian 
elements were of about equal consequence. His 
millennium is not reared upon ruin. He has no 
aversion, as the Christian had, to this present 
world, nor does he reject the beautiful pagan past. 
The dualism that lay deep in early Christianity he 
never knew. During ages of monkery his poetry 
kept alive the love of nature, the sense of joy and 
beauty. It was this " pagan suckled in a creed 
outworn " who was both the herald and the en- 
richer of Christianity. Into the very bosom of the 
Latin Church he brought airs from Greece, so ren- 
dering it easier for the men of the Renaissance to 
treat nature as divine and man as free. Virgil is 
both the last of the ancients and the first of the 
moderns. 



10 INTRODUCTION 

Pity and hope being thus the saving elements 
among the thin conventionalities of the Eclogues, 
Virgil retains them in the Georgics but transforms 
them through the addition of sterner stuff. In the 
Georgics toyland has disappeared; the realities of 
the country claim attention. Nor do we hear any- 
thing more of a Utopia, a blessed condition to be 
dreamed of until some day it appears. Virgil's 
maturer mind is fixed on the process by which 
salvation from evil may be secured. It is a process 
which requires full cooperation between the indi- 
vidual and the State. 

The reign of Augustus brought security to city, 
country, and sea throughout the Roman world. 
Civil disturbances had ceased, and foreign were 
only occasional and small. All Italians, as Roman 
citizens, enjoyed rights and opportunities unknown 
before. The arts of peace came forward. Com- 
merce and agriculture, domestic comfort, the ac- 
cumulation of wealth, books both for instruction 
and enjoyment claimed the place in public atten- 
tion which until recently had been held by cam- 
paigning, civil strife, plunder, and measures for 
guarding personal safety. 

Virgil's patriotism was strong, his intimacy with 
the ruling powers close. Augustus he honored as 
the one who had brought about prosperity, and he 
loved him for the favor shown to his own literary 
work. To make that work effective in consolidat- 
ing the State of Augustus became his sacred task. 
The welfare of Italy he saw must depend in the 



INTRODUCTION 11 

long run on its success in agriculture. If the toil 
of the farmer were scorned and the interests of the 
population became centered in city life, Italy must 
remain weak and draw its food supplies from other 
lands. Virgil, country-born and country-loving, 
takes it as his special office to dignify the farmer's 
life. He will bring together the largest knowledge 
of its methods, making his exposition attractive by 
beautiful words, melodious sound, stimulating an- 
ecdote, exalting myth, and religious suggestion. 
He will show how widely honored in the past farm 
life has been, how satisfactory are its rewards, how 
large its opportunities for quiet enjoyment in home 
and field. None of its occupations shall be counted 
unworthy of poetic treatment. Beauty, pictur- 
esqueness and the fullest information shall allure 
the farmer to his handbook. Such, as Williams 
conceived it, is the patriotic purpose of Virgil in his 
novel enterprise. That his didactic and aesthetic 
aims do not always harmonize is plain; and where 
they conflict, he as a poet is chiefly solicitous for 
beauty. But the betterment of the State through 
a knowledge of agriculture is everywhere his forma- 
tive theme. 

Abundant attention, however, is given to the 
farmer's individual welfare and to the difficulties 
which attend it. No man can pass through the 
world without large cause for sadness. The future 
is always uncertain, life short and liable to sudden 
overthrow, poverty abounds, men are self-willed, 
dull, not easily brought to prudence and piety. 



12 INTRODUCTION 

The one hope for pitiable mankind lies in labor. 
The Georgics are a continuous chant on the worth 
of work. Far from being ignored, the hardship of 
the farmer's life is put forward as a redemptive 
agency. None so fully as the farmer is trained in 
incessant watchfulness, swift adaptation to chang- 
ing conditions, a never-resting judgment, and a 
recognition that bodily toil is to run through every 
hour of every day. But work is the friend of man, 
not his foe; and this the farmer more than others 
understands. The connection between energy and 
success is more immediately apparent in his case 
than elsewhere, and failure more directly traceable 
to slackness. But slackness being in the blood of 
us all, Virgil will let no page leave his hand with- 
out its insistent appeal to work, work, work! 
Only when this individual appeal is heeded will the 
world be beautiful and happy. 

The Georgics then show a large advance in Vir- 
gil's thought. The country is no longer looked 
upon as a stage for the masquerading of impossible 
shepherds; it is a training ground for patriotism 
and moral endeavor. A golden age is indeed at 
hand, rendered possible by a wise, kind, and power- 
ful prince. But it awaits the call of each one of us. 
It will not appear until compelled. The blessings 
of our bounteous earth can be had through no 
other means than work. 

To these remarks on the Eclogues and Georgics 
only so much need be added in regard to the Aeneid 
as to indicate how it supplements the two earlier 



INTRODUCTION 13 

pieces. In it the individual factor, so strongly in- 
sisted on in the Georgics, retreats, giving place to 
profounder if less definable agencies. Throughout 
the worlds of nature and man run divine purposes, 
apprehended in every age by elect souls who, faith- 
ful to them and regardless of personal desires, lead 
the unthinking many to lands of promise. Such a 
divine leader was Aeneas, such Augustus, such in 
varying degree every man may be in proportion as 
he possesses wisdom, patience, superiority to pas- 
sion, and devotion to duty. Whoever is obedient 
to a heavenly vision preserves not himself alone 
but a dependent multitude. The importance of 
leadership, the acceptance of a divine will in place 
of personal waywardness, with loyalty to consti- 
tuted authority, are as truly the themes of Virgil's 
masterpiece as they are of the Book of Exodus. 

Virgil's total work, then, has unity. Its three 
successive pieces show an orderly progress of 
thought. The distinctive notes are pitying hope, 
work, and leadership. These different mental 
attitudes find appropriate expression in poetry of 
a lyric, didactic and epic character. No doubt in 
thus detaching his leading ideas from the body of 
his work I give them undue emphasis. They are 
in him rather as directing moods of mind than as a 
formulated creed. And while Virgil is a scholarly 
and imitative poet, and has copied his predecessors 
to a degree unknown before or since, yet no poet, 
unless the equally scholarly Milton, has left a 
deeper personal impress upon his work. It is 



14 INTRODUCTION 

doubtful too whether there is any parallel to the 
extent of his influence over subsequent poetry in 
all its three kinds. 

In this volume, however, we meet not Virgil 
alone, but his skilful interpreter. In the preceding 
pages I have pieced together from fragmentary 
notes what I suppose Williams wished said as an 
introduction to his book. But a grateful reader will 
desire information about the man himself. I can- 
not be discharged until I have stated the leading 
facts of his life and sketched, at least in outline, a 
character which in its full charm was indescribable. 



Theodore Chickering Williams was born in 
Brookline in 1855. His father, Frederic J. Wil- 
liams, a civil engineer, was a man of more than 
usual refinement and range of reading. Williams' 
own interest in good books was much assisted by 
the influence of W\ C. Collar, the stimulating Head- 
master of the Roxbury Latin School, where he pre- 
pared for College. The elective system was just 
starting at Harvard when he entered in 1872, and 
a rather remarkable group of young men availed 
themselves of the new freedom to develop their 
taste for English literature. Williams took high 
rank among them, attaining membership in the 
Phi Beta Kappa Society and being chosen Orator 
for Class Day. Largely dependent on his own 
exertions for education, after taking his Bachelor's 



INTRODUCTION 15 

degree in 1876 he taught in the High School at 
Keene, N. H., for a year, and then turned to that 
study of divinity which he had long purposed. He 
graduated from the Harvard Divinity School as 
the Orator of his Class in 1882, and the same year 
was ordained over the Unitarian Church in Win- 
chester, Mass. The following year he married 
Velma Curtis Wright of Boston and, with many 
regrets on the part of himself and his church, ac- 
cepted a call to All Souls Church in New York 
City, becoming at twenty-eight the successor of 
Henry F. Bellows. During the thirteen years of 
his ministry here his profound yet simple preach- 
ing and the spiritual quality of the entire man took 
a strong hold on his church and the community. 
In 1896 his health became so shaken that he re- 
signed and rested in Europe for two years, taking 
temporary charge of a church in Oakland, Cali- 
fornia, the year after his return. His scholarship, 
his interest in education and his influence over 
young men had always been so marked that when 
in 1899 it was proposed to found an important 
fitting-school for boys at Tarrytown on the Hud- 
son, he was asked to take charge. In five years he 
built Hackley School from its foundations, acquir- 
ing land, constructing its beautiful quadrangle, 
filling it with students, and establishing such 
traditions of scholarship, manliness and simplicity 
as have not been surpassed by the oldest schools 
in the country. Pupils, teachers and parents 
joined in admiration and affection for him. But 



16 INTRODUCTION 

such work cannot be done without friction and 
fatigue. In 1905 he again laid down his work and 
took two years of recuperation in Europe. On 
returning in 1907 he accepted, though with reluc- 
tance, the Head-mastership of his old school, the 
Roxbury Latin. The agreeable work proved too 
severe, and in 1909 he was obliged to withdraw 
and for three years to avoid all continuous occupa- 
tion. When, however, in 1912 a brother minister in 
Santa Barbara, California, desired to be relieved of 
work for a year, Williams took his church and so 
greatly enjoyed the beauty, hospitality, and in- 
telligence of that land of lotus-eaters that he 
remained through the following summer. Riding 
one day among the hills he was overcome by the 
heat and only after an illness of many months was 
able to return to Boston. When pneumonia 
attacked him the following winter, it was evident 
that his physical resources were at an end. He 
died on May 6, 1915. 

He published a volume of sermons, Character 
Building in 1893, an English verse translation of 
Tibullus in 1905, Virgil's Aeneid in 1907, and 
Poems of Belief in 1910. He was Preacher to 
Harvard University, 1888-90, and poet of the 
Harvard Phi Beta Kappa Society in June, 1904. 
In 1911 he received the degree of Litt.D., from 
Western Reserve University. Some twenty of his 
hymns are scattered in the hymnals of this country 
and England. 

He was of middle height, slight in figure, light- 



INTRODUCTION 17 

haired, with mobile, subtle features which im- 
parted to his face an expression like that of Emer- 
son or of Cardinal Newman. His unusual powers 
of intellectual and moral leadership were early 
recognized. In a not long and necessarily frag- 
mentary life he accomplished, by aid of a happy 
home, three remarkable pieces of work. While 
turning from boyhood to manhood he met the 
complex demands of a large city church. In 
middle life there followed the extraordinary suc- 
cess in building, organizing, and inspiring a great 
school, meeting in it a class of problems with 
which he had no previous experience. Then in 
the leisure of advancing age he turns to his life- 
long companion, Virgil, and through narrative 
ease, noble diction, and modulated sound, makes 
him companionable for us too. In all these diverse 
undertakings the same traits come out. Williams 
was everywhere thinker, poet, and saint. 

His mind played about every subject it touched. 
The many aspects which truth might assume, its 
shades, its contradictions even, delighted him. He 
would suddenly question one of his deepest beliefs 
and had small regard for formal consistency. In- 
tellectual stagnation was abhorrent to him and 
impossible for any one in his company. Both 
thought and utterance were perpetually fresh and 
highly individual. Yet the texture of his mind 
was firm and its idealistic convictions seemed 
strengthened by continual criticism. The casual 
stranger quickly felt that keen, original, and 



18 INTRODUCTION 

scholarly intellect which allowed itself no lazy 
ambiguities and was ever eager to receive greater 
reasonableness from others. 

This open-mindedness, intellectual refinement, 
and disposition to create his own modes of speech 
made poetry, and indeed Fine Art of all sorts, a 
constant ingredient of his daily life. It never be- 
came an artificial pastime. He looked out upon a 
glad world with the unwearied eyes of a child, 
seized its human values with rejoicing, sensitively 
harmonized its discords, and swiftly created appro- 
priate forms for depicting its incidents. He found 
some good side in everyone, in every experience, 
remarking in the midst of his last pneumonia that 
he had never enjoyed an illness so much. His 
letters were consequently delightful. In his Vic- 
torian youth literary interests were dominant, over- 
topping those of science and commerce. Curiously 
blended they were too with moral passion. Car- 
lyle, Emerson, Mill, Huxley, Huskin, were no less 
great rhetoricians than reformers. The same com- 
bination was in Williams. Sound, beautiful, and 
persuasive language was with him a part of mor- 
ality, almost of religion, and by daily discipline it 
had been fashioned into an instinct. While nothing 
could induce him to his desk if he were not in the 
mood, at the right moment he would turn off a 
hymn or Latin epigram while dressing as naturally 
as a business man plans a commercial deal. 
Though there was thus in him much of the im- 
provisatore, he loved to polish too, and allowed 



INTRODUCTION 19 

nothing to leave his hand till it had reached its 
utmost perfection. Like ail poets, he lived deeply 
in the present moment; and when it passed, con- 
cerned himself little with it and its works. He 
therefore bore about no burden of regrets, resent- 
ments, or fixed limitations, although sometimes 
depressed with a low estimate of his powers. 

All who met him felt his unselfish character and 
were fascinated by its blending of virility and 
loveliness. Religion went all through him. He 
might be said to live with the Eternal and to be 
ever engaged in tracking its presence through 
temporal things. While a convinced Unitarian, 
of a conservative type, he was never misled by 
" Liberalism " into contempt of other Christians, 
but felt a humble sympathy with all devout souls. 
One might well apply to him the abused term 
" spiritually-minded," only one should then re- 
member his organizing skill, his shrewd judgment 
of men, and his practical attention to whatever 
agencies fight poverty, ignorance, and vice. Few 
so spiritual are also so full of humor, so continu- 
ally playful. But being thoroughly at home in his 
Father's house, he found it natural to play there. 
Whether teaching school, building a church, inter- 
preting Virgil, or sitting as the scintillating center 
of a group of talkers, he was ever the Christian 
gentleman, dignified yet charming, and like Pope's 
" gracious Chandos " was " beloved at sight." 

G. H. PALMER. 

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 
September 1, 1915. 



THE GEORGICS 



GEORGIC I 

What brings glad harvest-days, what starry sign 
Bids turn the sod for seeding, when to wed 
The elm tree and the vine, what watchful care 
Our cattle ask, the various art and skill 
Good shepherds use, the sage experience 
Which thrifty bees require, — such lowly themes, 
Maecenas, let me here attempt in song. 

universal lights, supremely fair, 

That through the welkin guide the circling year, 

Ye first I call. Then your celestial grace, 

Bacchus and blessed Ceres, by whose gifts 

Earth changed Chaonia's scanty acorn-crop 

To full-eared, golden corn, and new-trod grape 

Mixed red with Achelous' storied stream. 

Then, helpers kind to husbandmen, ye Fauns, — 

Fauns with lovely Dryads tripping free ! — 

Your works I sing. Thee, too, for whom the Earth 

Flung forth, long ages gone, the prancing horse, 

Smitten by thy tall trident's potent blow, 

O Father Neptune ! Then that forester 

Sad Aristaeus, lord of Ceos' isle, 

Whose herd, three hundred snow-white bulls, are fed 

Along its bosky terraces. Then, thou, 

O Pan, the keeper of all flocks ! With not less love 

Than for thy sacred Maenalus, dwell here, 

Leaving Lycaean glades and native groves, 

13 



24 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [18-37 

To bless thine altars here, Arcadian God. 
Minerva, too, who bade the olive bloom, 
And that boy-deity who first contrived 
The cleaving plough; and Sylvan, carrying 
Th' uprooted, sapling cypress for a sign; 
All gods and goddesses who o'er broad lands 
Hold guard and governance, who give increase 
To strange, wild fruits unsown of mortal hand, 
Or on Man's planting drop the bounteous rain. 

Last, though in heavenly conclave what due seat 

Shall be hereafter thine is yet unknown, 

Caesar, on thee I call. WilPt guardian be 

Of cities and assume celestial care 

Of every land, while thee the world receives 

For harvest patron and the lord of storms, 

Thy mother's myrtle wreathed about thy brow ? 

Or wilt thou rise upon us as the god 

Of the unmeasured sea, while mariners 

To thee alone make vows, while the world's end 

To thee bows down, and dowered with all her waves 

Tethys, the sea-queen bids thee wed her child ? 

Or wilt thou be a newly stationed sign 

Among the summer stars, in vacant space 

Betwixt the Virgin and the threatening Claws, 

Where, look ! the flaming Scorpion for thee 

Already shrinks his grasp, abandoning 

His more than equal portion of the sky ? 

Where'er thou reignest (for it may not be 

That gloomy Tartarus could claim thee king, 

Nor that thine own heart the dread hope should hold 



38-58] GEORGIC I 25 

Of such a throne, though Greece with rapture sang 

Elysium's happy fields, and Proserpine 

Heeds not her mother's bidding to return). 

Oh grant me a good voyage ! To my bold task 

Nod thy assenting brow, and even as I, 

Pity the farmer-folk, oft at a loss 

What way to choose. Begin thy power divine, 

And wont thee now to heed our vows and prayers. 

In earliest Spring when from the mountains white 
The frozen rains dissolve, and zephyr's breath 
Loosens the yielding clod from frosty chain, 
Then and no later, let thy plough drive deep, 
Thy oxen groan, and burnished by its toil, 
Thy gleaming ploughshare from the furrow shine. 
Yet will the careful master's crops reward, 
Though late, his prayers, if fallow lie the land 
Two radiant summers and two winters cold : — 
His barns burst with his endless tale of sheaves. 
But ere our ploughs upturn a field unknown, 
Care must be taken to observe the winds 
And changing skies, what modes and habits be 
The region's heritage, what gift each place 
Bears or denies. These acres favor corn, 
In yonder, vines grow better; elsewhere spring 
Fruit-orchards and a wealth of unsown green. 
Who knows not how the scented saffron grows 
On Tmolus, Lydian hill ? that ivory 
Is India's trade, and frankincense the pride 
Of sensual Araby ? The Chalybes 
Delve naked after iron, Pontus breeds 



26 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [59-83 

The Castor drug, and far Epirus sends 

Her mettled coursers for Olympian palms. 

Such are the laws, the lasting covenants, 

Which Nature's power ordains for place and time, 

Since first Deucalion that primal morn 

Flung stones behind him o'er th' unpeopled world 

Whence men upsprang, — a tribe as hard as stone. 

Therefore, to work ! The first months of the year 

Must bid thy strong bulls turn the fruitful ground. 

Let dusty summer with maturing ray 

Bake the flat clod; but if the chosen field 

Be somewhat sterile, it serves well to plough 

Light furrows in the month Arcturus comes, 

Lest, in one case, weeds crowd the healthy corn, 

Or, next, all moisture leave the barren sand. 

In odd years, also, let the close-grazed fields 

Lie fallow, while the resting land crusts o'er 

Neglected; or beneath some later star 

Sow golden corn, where once the humble crops 

Were pulse, with shaking, bursting pods, and growth 

Of tiny-seeded vetches, or frail stems 

And whistling patch of lupine, bitter weed ! 

For flax will burn the land, so too will oats, 

And poppies with Lethean sleep imbued 

Are crops that burn the heart of any soil. 

The change of crop makes light work. But fear not 

To soak the land with good, rich dung, or strew 

Waste ashes where the wide fields lie outworn. 

Thus with changed harvest give your lands repose, 

For earth unploughed has many a gift in store. 



84-107] GEORGIC I 27 

'Tis oft great gain to set bad lands on fire 

And burn the stubble in sharp crackling flame. 

Haply the earth some secret powers conceives 

And seeds of nourishment; or some disease 

Is burned out and all noisome dews expelled; 

Or heat, more like, the hidden breathing-holes 

And secret channels opens and sets free, 

Whereby the young plants drink the moisture in. 

More often heat gives toughness and contracts 

The soil's large veins, lest soaking showers bring harm, 

Or the swift sun's too fierce extreme of power, 

Or wintry blasts of Boreas' piercing cold. 

He also who shall break the sluggish clods 

With rakes, and drag the osier hurdles o'er, 

Prospers his tillage well, and not in vain 

Him golden Ceres from Olympus views. 

Nor him who o'er the once-ploughed land upturns 

Again his ridges, and with oblique share 

Cuts cross-wise; for he trains his land to toil, 

And is true captain of obedient fields. 

For summers moist and windless winters fair 
Pray heaven, ye farmer-folk. In winters dry 
The corn rejoices and your acres smile. 
'Tis of this blessing Mysia chiefly boasts, 
Where Gargara wonders at the wealth she bears. 
Why tell of him who when his seed is strewn 
Attacks his field forthwith and smooths away 
The mounds of sterile sand ? Soon o'er his crops 
He guides a flood of hastening rivulets; 
For when his acres burn and green things die, 



28 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [108-130 

Look! from the forehead of the channelled hill 
He lures the waters down. The tumbling streams 
Wake a hoarse murmur on the polished stones 
And pouring free, relieve the thirsty land. 
Another husbandman, lest wheat-stalks bend 
Beneath the teeming ear, turns in his flock 
To shear the green, too rankly springing, blades 
When first the young shoots top the furrow's side. 
Another from some saturated bog 
Drains off the gathered waters, chiefly when 
The river, after months of changeful sky, 
Swells o'er its banks, filling wide flats with slime, 
And from the swamp-holes steams the heated ooze. 

Yet though the toils of men and oxen turn 
A careful furrow through the glebe, not less 
Will bold wild-geese, or Strymon's host of cranes, 
Or bitter-fibred weeds their mischief do, 
Or overgrowth of shade spoil half the corn. 
Great Jove himself ordained for husbandry 
No easy road, when first he bade earth's fields 
Produce by art, and gave unto man's mind 
Its whetting by hard care; where Jove is king 
He suffers not encumbering sloth to bide. 
Before Jove reigned no busy husbandmen 
Subdued the ground; there was no usage then 
Of landmarks, lines and severance of the fields; 
All goods were common, and the liberal earth 
Gave every gift unsued. 'Twas Jove bestowed 
Foul poison on dread serpents, bade the wolves 
Be robbers, vexed with troubling waves the sea, 



131-152] GEORGTC I 29 

Shook off from leafy oaks their honey-dew, 
Concealed the seeds of fire, and stopped the flow 
Of streaming rills that once ran red with wine. 
He purposed that experience and thought 
By slow degrees should fashion and forge out 
Arts manifold, should seek green blades of corn 
By ploughing, and from veins of flinty shard 
Hammer the fire. Then first the rivers felt 
Skiffs made of hollowed alder. Mariners 
Then told the names and numbers of the stars : 
Hyades, Pleiads, and Lycaon's child, 
The glorious Bear. Then first were forests laid 
With snares for woodland creatures : cunningly 
Men limed the birds, or circled glade and scaur 
With barking pack, or lashed the rivers wide 
With cast of net, or trailed the briny sea 
With dripping lines. Then iron in hot forge 
Took temper and the chill-edged saw was made; 
For driven wedges first were used to cleave 
The yielding grain of wood. Then later times 
Brought forth of other arts the varied skill. 
Work conquered all, relentless, obstinate, 
While poverty and hardship urged it on. 
Ceres of old taught mortal men to delve 
The earth with iron share, what evil time 
The hallowed groves their acorns and wild fruits 
Refused to bear, and from Dodona's tree 
No nurture fell. But soon the growing corn 
Required fresh labor when a mildew foul 
Devoured the stalks, and prickly was the field 
With idle thistles; the good crops were lost 



30 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [153-170 

And in their place sprang thorny undergrowth 
Of burrs and caltrops; over beauteous fields 
The witch-grass and vile darnel won the day. 
Wherefore unless with frequent harrowings 
Thou dost compel thy land, and with loud cries 
Scarest the crows away, and prunest close 
All over-darkening branches, and with prayer 
Dost win full rains from heaven, — then, alas ! 
Thou shalt in vain behold the bursting barns 
Some neighbor hath, and stay thine appetite 
On forest acorn shaken from the tree. 

Now shall be told what weapons in their war 

The sturdy farmers use, without whose aid 

No sowing time or reaping e'er could be, 

No crop could e'er be sown or harvest rise. 

The ploughshare first with heavy -timbered strength 

Of curving handles, then the harvest wains, 

Their slow wheels sacred to Eleusis' queen; 

The threshing-sledges, drags, and clumsy weight 

Of harrows; osier-plaited basketry 

By worshipt Celeus given; the hurdles wound 

With sacred stems; and blest Iacchus' sign, 

The mystic winnowing-fan. These, one and all 

With forward-looking mind for months before 

Provide, if worthy thou would' st always be 

To claim the gjory of the art divine 

Of husbandry. The elm tree in the grove 

While yet a sapling small must be constrained 

By pressure strong to take the curving line 

Of the plough's handle; joined to this the pole 



171-192] GEORGIC I 31 

Stretches eight feet in front; there is the pair 
Of earth-boards, and the share-beam fitted well 
With double-timbered back. Cut for the yoke 
A linden light, and from a beech tree tall 
Wood for the staff which at the base controls 
The turning of the plough. Long time each piece 
Should hang in hearth r smoke for good seasoning. 

Many the wise old maxims I could tell, 

If patient thou would'st hear, not wearying 

Of sage acquaintance with small tasks and cares. 

This notably, to smooth the threshing-floor 

Break it by hand and roll with large round stone, 

Then face with close-packed clay, lest weeds push through 

Or the worn surface crack; wherewith arrives 

Many a pest to plague thee : such as he 

Of subterranean house and granary, 

The small mouse; or, though prisoned by his eyes, 

The mole digs deep his bed; or lurking toad 

Peers from his hole; and many a prodigy 

The earth unnumbered breeds: the weevil tribes 

Whose legions ravage the high heap of corn, 

And ants, whose fear is age and poverty. 

Observe well if the walnut in the grove 

Blossom in mantling flowers and downward bend 

Its fragrant boughs; for if its fruit abound, 

A like corn-crop will follow and a year 

Of generous heat and threshing; but if groves 

Spread forth mere luxury of leafy shade, 

Then wilt thou thresh in vain the chaff-blown straw. 



32 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [193-216 

Many I know who ere the beans are sown 
Steep them in nitre and mix lees of oil, 
That in the pods, so oft of promise vain, 
A larger size be found. Yet have I seen 
Seeds chosen patiently and tested long 
And moistened, too, over a gentle fire, 
Spoilt notwithstanding, save if year by year 
One picked the best by hand. It is the law 
Of all things to grow worse and to return 
To lower levels; as when oarsmen drive 
A boat upstream, if once the rowing slack, 
The hurrying river hurls it headlong down. 
Besides, we must of stars as watchful be — 
Arcturus, the bright Serpent, the two Kids, — 
As men bound homeward over stormful seas 
Who venture Hellespont and threatening straits 
Where rich Abydos its famed oyster bears. 
When Libra to the hours of sleep and day 
Gives equal measure and divides the globe 
Betwixt the realms of darkness and of light, 
Then, ploughmen, drive your oxen hard and seed 
The fields with barley, until comes the verge 
Of stormy winter, little apt for toil. 

Also the flax and Ceres' garland flowers, 
The poppies, should be sown; and now begin 
With constant harrowing, while the unsoaked soil 
Allows, and yet the rainclouds brood afar. 
In Spring, bean-sowing ! and let furrows moist 
Receive the Medic clover; every Spring 
Prepare the millet, when with golden horns 



217-242] GEORGIC I 33 

The white Bull opes the year, and in retreat 
The Dog, with star averted, sinks obscure. 
But if for bearded wheat or sturdy spelt 
Thy land is tilled and only grain is planned, 
Let first the morning Pleiads cease to shine 
And the fierce splendor of the Cretan Crown, 
Ere in the furrows thou shalt cast their due 
Of seeds, and ere to a reluctant soil 
Thou rashly lend the hopes of all the year. 
Many before the Pleiad sets begin, 
But them their long-awaited harvest cheats 
With withered corn. If vetches thou wouldst have 
Or common kidney bean, and scornest not 
Lentils, th' Egyptian sort, the sinking Bear 
Will show no doubtful sign; then start away 
And to mid-winter frosts the work prolong. 
To give this guidance doth the golden Sun 
Govern the heavenly sphere, which sectioned is 
In changeless regions by twelve starry Signs. 
Five zones possess the sky : one dazzling bright 
Glows ever in the sun and burns with fire; 
Round this to right and leftward lie outspread 
Two zones extreme, with blue ice mantled o'er 
And clouds of gloom. Midway between them lie 
The two which by the grace of gods belong 
To suffering mortals. Through them both a path 
Cuts slantwise, for the highway of the Signs. 
Toward Scythia and the hoar Riphaean peaks 
The sphere is lifted high; toward Libya 
Low to the south it bends. The upper pole 
Is ever high above us; the obverse 



34 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [243-266 

Is deeper than dark Styx and shades below. 
Around the North the monster Serpent trails 
With coil and curve, and like a river winds 
'Twixt the two Bears — the stars that shrink away 
And shun the watery touch of Ocean's rim. 
At South, a timeless, voiceless night, some say, 
Far spreads in gathered gloom; or truth may be 
Aurora from our realm retires to bring 
Their Morn; and when her panting chariot-steeds 
Breathe here, then Vesper's torch lights there the stars. 

'Tis with such knowledge that we can foretell 
From shifting skies the storms to come, and times 
For reaping or for seed, what day to stir 
With stroke of oars the smooth, perfidious sea, 
When fleets should launch them forth in war-array, 
When in the forests to lay low the pine. 
It is no idle watch to mark the Signs 
That set or rise, and how th' impartial year 
In four distinguished, equal seasons flows. 
When a skilled farmer by long winter rains 
Is bound indoors, he finds occasion fair 
For tasks at leisure, which some later day 
Would bid him slight in haste, if skies were clear. 
The ploughman hammers keen the point 
Of the worn share, he scoops out trees for troughs, 
Or brands his herd, or on full sacks of corn 
Smears numbers; others whittle out sharp stakes, 
Or forked props, or for the rambling vines 
Twine withes of willow; others plait by hand 
Light baskets of the stems of hillside thorn; 






267-289] GEORGIC I 35 

Now parch the corn on embers and then grind 
Upon a well-smoothed stone. For even on days 
Of hallowed festival it is no wrong 
Some fitting task to ply. No law divine 
Hinders to trench and drain, or hedge about 
A ripening harvest, or set snares for birds, 
Or burn out brambles, or in healthful stream 
To bathe the bleating flock; 'tis on such days 
The driver loads his slow-paced donkey's ribs 
With oil and low-priced apples, then plods home 
Fetching from city forum a cut stone 
Or large black lump of pitch. 

The moon herself 
Ordains the days which for their fitting tasks 
Are omened well. The fifth day bodes great ill : 
For death-pale Orcus and the Eumenides 
On this were born, and Earth's prodigious womb 
With throes accurst brought forth Iapetus, 
Coeus and grim Typhoeus, the fell brood 
Who plotted to tear down the sky, and thrice 
Strove to plant Ossa upon Pelion's crown, 
And on them forest-clad Olympus fling, 
But thrice Jove's bolt the heaped-up hills o'erthrew. 
The seventeenth brings luck in planting vines, 
Roping and training bulls, and starting webs 
Upon the loom; the ninth gives good escapes 
And thwarts the thief. 

Yet night's chill hours are best 
For many a task, or when with orient beam 
The morn bedews the pastures. Then men crop 
Light stubble, and at night mow fields burnt dry : 



36 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [290-313 

For soft night-moisture then but seldom fails. 

Some watch late hours by blazing winter hearth 

And with keen blade point torches, while the wife, 

Consoling her long toil with cheerful song, 

Through loom and web her shrill- voiced shuttle moves, 

Or boils sweet must above a roaring fire, 

And skims with leaves the cauldron's bubbling tide. 

But 'tis the full midsummer when ripe corn 
Is ready for the sickle; at hot noon 
Bruise on the threshing-floor the arid grain. 
Plough naked and sow naked. Winter days 
Should bring the farmer ease; the country folk 
When the cold strengthens use their garnered store 
In welcome feasts and hospitable cheer, 
While merry winter spreads the board and breaks 
The bonds of care; as when full-laden ships 
Come to safe port at last, and on their prows 
The happy mariners wind wreaths of flowers. 
Yet now is time to pluck from oaken bough 
Its acorns, and the laurel's bitter fruit, 
With bay and, red as blood, the myrtle berries. 
Now snare the crane, lay nets for antlered stags, 
Chase long-eared hares. Now may Balearic archers 
Strike the shy does, whirling their sling in air 
By its hemp cord, while now the snow lies deep 
And streams compact their ice. 

What now to tell 
Of autumn's tempests and her starry signs ? 
When now the days grow short and suns more mild, 
What anxious watch men keep ! > Or when the Spring 



314-335] GEORGIC I 37 

Departs with showery skies, and in the fields 

The pointed blades flaunt forth, and budding corn 

Thrusts itself full-sapped from the fresh, green stem ! 

Oft have I seen (just when the husbandman 

Was sending to the yellow harvest fields 

His band of reapers, binding the frail stalks 

In sheaves) a war of winds rush down and smite 

The full corn far and wide, and from the roots 

Uptearing, toss it high, as wintry storms 

Dark whirling, sweep up stubble and light straw. 

Oft out of heaven a boundless multitude 

Of waters bursts, and gathering from the sea 

The clouds roll up black rains and tempests dire. 

Down crashes the whole sky, and floods of rain 

Drown the fair fields and all the oxen's toil. 

The trenches overflow, the channelled streams 

Swell with a roar, and all the sea is stirred 

With waves untamable. Then Jupiter 

From midnight dark of thunder-cloud throws forth 

With his own hand his blinding bolt divine. 

The vast earth shudders at the shock, the beasts 

Are fled to cover, and in haunts of men 

Great cowering fear all mortal hearts confounds. 

The god could thus with blazing shaft o'erwhelm 

Athos and Rhodope, and hurl to dust 

The proud Ceraunian peaks. With doubling roar 

The tempest blows and heavier pours the rain, 

While with wild blasts the woods and shores make moan. 

In fear of such, watch how the starry skies 

Change with the monthly signs; what winding course 



38 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [336-360 

Saturn's cold planet takes, and 'mid what spheres 

Strays Mercury's red fire. But chiefly pay 

Fit worship to the gods. Make sacrifice 

Each year to sovereign Ceres, when the grass 

Is green and glad, the winter making end 

And gentle Spring is in the air, when lambs 

Are fattening, when the wine grows smooth and mild, 

And sweet is slumber in cool hillside shade. 

Let all the country youth of manly prime 

On Ceres call, bearing her tribute due 

Of honey mixed with milk and sweet, new wine. 

Three times around the freshly bladed corn 

The blessed victim guide, while all the choir 

In gladsome company an anthem sing, 

Bidding the goddess to their lowly doors. 

And let no reaper touch the ripened corn 

With sickle keen until his brows he bind 

With twine of oak-leaf, while he trips along 

In artless dance with songs in Ceres' praise. 

'Twas Jove's own grace decreed that by sure signs 
Men prophesy of droughts, rains, frost and winds, 
Watching the admonitions of the moon, 
Marking what bodes a gale, what oft-seen signs 
Bid herdsmen keep their cattle nigh the barn. 
When storms are rising, the wide ocean's flood 
Begins to toss and roll; on wooded hills 
Tumultuous crash is heard; from every side 
The mountain lakes re-echo; vaster swells 
The forest's moaning; now the smiting seas 
Scarce spare the ship's round side; the sea-gulls wing 



361-386] GEORGIC I 39 

From mid-sea swiftly home and fill the shore 
With clamorous voice; while safe upon the beach 
The brown coots play; the heron makes escape 
From green salt fens, her haunt, and cloudward soars. 
Oft when a tempest threatens, you shall see 
The very stars drop headlong from the sky 
And trail through night's deep gloom a glittering flame. 
Oft through the air flit straws and fallen leaves, 
And floating feathers dance along the stream. 
But when the wild North region flashes, while 
Both East and West are thundering, soon the land 
Is flooded with full streams, and out at sea 
Wise mariners haul close the dripping sail. 

Never unheralded descends the storm; 
For while 'tis brewing, cranes of lofty wing 
Retreat to lowland vales; the heifer scans 
The sky above and snuffs the passing breeze 
With nostrils wide; the swallow with shrill cry 
Flits round the pond, and from the marish ooze 
The frogs in choir their age-long trouble sing; 
Often the ant from out her secret cells 
Bores her strait path and brings her eggs to air; 
A spacious rainbow drinks the rain; the crows 
Their camp abandon and in martial line 
Depart, with clashing of unnumbered wings; 
Sea-birds of many a tribe, that haunt the fens 
Of Asia and Cayster's waters fair, 
Eagerly splash their backs with showers of spray, 
Dive head down in the stream, and race along 
The rippling surface, while unrestingly 



40 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [387-410 

They plunge with fury in the needless bath. 
With lifted voice the loud insulting crow 
Invokes the rain, and o'er some sandy marge 
Circles alone. Then if the maidens ply 
Their looms at night, they know the tempest nigh, 
As in the lamp's clay bowl the burning oil 
Flickers and all the wick is wet with mould. 

Likewise by tokens sure thou mayst foretell 
Clear sunshine after rain and days of calm: 
For the stars seem with undimmed ray to shine, 
And the bright moon as if she need not steal 
Her brother's beam, nor longer through the skies 
Drifts the light gossamer of fleecy clouds; 
Nor does the halcyon sunward spread her wings 
Along the sea-marge, bird to Thetis dear; 
Nor do the filthy swine their sheaves of straw 
Bite, but they toss them fiercely round the pen. 
The misty clouds creep downward to the vales 
And linger on the meadows; the night-owl 
Watching from house-tops how the sun goes down 
Now sings in vain her ominous even- song; 
Aloft in cloudless air the osprey soars, — 
Nisus he was, and Scylla feels her doom 
For faithless theft of that one purple hair; 
And where her wings escaping cleave the blue, 
Lo, with a mighty whirr of wings her foe 
Nisus, air-borne, pursues; where Nisus rides 
Upon the wind, there too must Scylla fly 
And cleave with panic wing the vacant blue. 
Then with clear note and eager-throated voice 



411-436] GEORGIC I 41 

The crows three times and four repeat their cry, 

And often in their airy dwellings feel 

A strange new stir of joy, and hid in leaves 

Make clamorous talk; they love when storms are done 

To tend the small broods and dear nests once more. 

It is not, as I think, some inborn power 

Made theirs by gift divine, nor foresight true 

By natural law bestowed; but when the shift 

Of weather comes, and all the flowing skies 

Their courses alter, and the laden air 

Drenched with the southwinds turns from thick to thin 

And thin to thick, — then all the creatures' minds 

New images receive and in their breasts 

Are other thoughts than when the storm- winds blew. 

So in the fields the birds consenting sing, 

The flocks are glad, the crows in triumph cry. 

If wisely you shall watch the swift- wheeled sun 
And moon in ordered change, no morrow morn 
Will disappoint, nor eve of flattering calm 
Betray and snare. When the first crescent moon, 
Now reassembling her resurgent fires, 
Clasps a dark mist betwixt her shadowed horns, 
Then for the farmer-folk and out at sea 
Vast storm is brewing; but if maiden blush 
O'erspread her face, then wind; the golden moon 
Glows red in wind; but if — the surest sign — 
She shines clear the fourth night and travels heaven 
With undiminished horns, then all that day, 
And all succeeding till the month is done, 
Will bring nor rain nor wind : and safe on shore 



42 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [437-459 

The sailors sing with Panopaea's praise 
Glaucus and Melicertes, Ino's child. 



Also the sun both with his rising beams 
And when in western wave his front he hides, 
Gives many a token. Signs infallible 
Attend the sun. He shows them in the skies 
At morn and when the rising stars appear. 
When his dim dawn a spotted mantle wears 
And he, cloud- wrapt, the half his orb withdraws, 
Then look for showers : for then the southern storm, 
Of forest, flock, and field the wrathful foe, 
Is speeding from the deep. Or when at dawn 
Sparse beams pierce heavy clouds, and pale of brow 
Aurora from Tithonus' saffron bed 
Shall take her flight, — ah, then the tendrilled vine 
For mellowing grapes will sorry shelter prove, 
While rattling thick upon the roof down pours 
The dancing hail. But also when the sun 
Is setting and his heavenly course is spanned, 
Then more than ever mark his aspect well. 
For oft we see strange shifts of color stray 
Along his face : the azure heralds rain, 
Flame-hued, strong wind. But if red flashes glow 
With mingling spots, then will you soon behold 
A heaven-wide tumult of dark clouds and storms. 
On such a night let none my ship compel 
On the deep seas to ride, nor from safe shore 
Her cable sever. But if his orb shall shine 
Undimmed, both when he gives the glorious day 
Or his own gift beneath the world conceals, 



460-484] GEORGIC I 43 

Then vain your fear of storms, and you shall see 
Your waving woods by cloudless north- winds move. 
Lastly, what morn the closing eve portends, 
What winds bring rainless clouds, what coming harm 
The misty southwind means, of these and more 
The sun will show the signs. 

What mortal dares 
Doubt the sun's speaking true ? Is it not he 
That warns full oft when dark seditions lour, 
Treasons and swelling tides of secret war ? 
He pitied Rome when Caesar fell, and long 
In clouds of iron gloom his forehead veiled, 
Till this bad age feared night could have no end. 
Yea, in those times the earth, the spreading seas, 
Abominable dogs and birds accursed, 
Gave portents terrible. Day after day 
From bursting furnace-caverns Aetna poured 
Vast, seething floods along the Cyclops' land, 
With balls of flame and rocks in molten flow. 
A clash of arms that filled the arching skies 
Germania heard. The Alpine summits shook 
With shuddering strange. Through silent groves divine 
A mighty cry smote many a listening ear, 
And phantoms wondrous pale were seen to move 
Along the shades of night. The lowing herds 
Spoke language — fearful sign! The flowing streams 
Stood still, earth opened, and in temple shrines 
The bronze and ivory shed sorrow's tears, 
Eridanus, the king of streams, engulfed 
Whole groves in raging waves, and through wide vales 
Bore flock and fold away. In those dark days 



44 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [485-506 

The victim's entrails never ceased to show 

Some evil-boding sign. The very wells 

Ran blood; the cities all night long 

Were loud with howling wolves; never till then 

So many thunderbolts from cloudless skies, 

So many frightful comets flamed afar. 

Because of these Philippi viewed once more, 

Each against each, in clash of equal arms, 

The ranks of Romans ride ; nor did high heaven 

Forbid that twice the blood of Romans spilled 

Enriched the pastures of Emathia 

And all wide plains from Haemus' top o'erviewed. 

The day shall come, I ween, when in that land 

Some farmer, driving deep his curving share, 

Shall find rust-eaten javelins half -consumed, 

Or with his heavy harrow smite upon 

Helmets, all empty, and with wonder scan 

Gigantic bones in opened grave laid bare. 

Gods of our fathers, and protecting powers 

That watch our native land, O Romulus, 

O Vesta, sacred mother, who dost guard 

Our Tuscan Tiber and Rome's Palatine, 

Fail not to grant that our young Prince restore 

The ruined world. Too long our blood is poured 

To wash away the sinful perjury 

Of King Laomedon. Already Heaven, 

Th' Olympian dwelling, envies us for thee, 

O Caesar, and complains thou still dost choose 

Triumphs on earth; for here both right and wrong 

Lie mingled and o'erthrown. So many wars 

Vex the whole world, so many monstrous shapes 



507-514] GEORGIC I 45 

Of wickedness appear; no honor due 

Is given the sacred plough; our fields and farms, 

Their masters taken, rankly lie untilled; 

Our pruning-hooks are beaten in hot flames 

To tempered swords. Euphrates yonder stirs, 

There wild Germania, to impious war; 

Close-neighbored cities their firm leagues forswear 

And rush to arms. The War-god pitiless 

Moves wrathful through the world. With not less rage 

Swift chariot-horses through the circus bound 

With ever-quickening pace; the driver pale 

Is vanquished by his team and waves on high 

His helpless reins; no curb the chariot heeds. 



GEORGIC II 

The arts of husbandry, the stars of heaven, 
Thus far have filled my song; but, Bacchus, now 
Of thee I sing, of many a greenwood tree, 
And of the slow-grown olive's offspring fair. 
Draw nigh, O Sire Lenaeus ! thy good gifts 
On every side abound; the teeming land 
Blooms with autumnal vines, the foaming vats 
Run o'er with vintage. O Lenaeus, come, 
Here at our wine-press cast thy buskins by, 
And stain with purple grape thine ankles bare. 

Mark at the outset in what differing wise 
Trees left to Nature propagate their kind. 
For some, not urged of man, spread far and wide 
At their own will, along the open plains 
Or winding rivers; thus the osiers grow, 
The pliant broom-plant, the tall poplar's stem, 
And smooth green willows silvering in the wind. 
But others from sown seed begin; as groves 
Of lofty chestnut, and Jove's chosen leaf, 
Sweet acorn, or that oak, whose vocal bough 
Seemed to the listening Greeks an oracle. 
Others of scions densely clustering grow, 
As cherry and elm; Parnassian laurel, too, 
Lifts in large mother-shade its infant stem. 
These three are Nature's ways; such bourgeoning 



21-44] GEORGIC II 47 

The shrubs, the copses have, and templed groves. 
But art and custom other means contrive : 
One cuts his slips from out the yielding womb 
Of mother tree, and in his trenches sets; 
One buries stocks in earth, as quartered stakes 
Or pointed poles; some trees need slips bent back 
Bow-shaped, which take root in their native soil; 
Some need no root at all; the pruner's blade 
Cuts the tree's crest and plants it in the ground. 
Even small sections serve, and, strange to tell ! 
Out of bare blocks will burst the olive green. 
Often we watch one tree put forth unharmed 
Branches of differing kind : a pear-tree grows 
Engrafted apples, and tough cornels wild 
Redden with plums. 

Therefore, O husbandmen, 
Be diligent to learn the culture due 
Each separate kind, and soften by your skill 
The wilding fruit's harsh, native quality. 
' No land need idle be. Steep Ismara 
Blooms well with Bacchus' gift, and olives fair 
Mantle Taburnus' mighty sides with green. 

But bless me, thou, and course with me this voyage, 
My glory, my Maecenas, thou chief part 
Of all my fame, spread sail on this wide sea! 
Yet shall my song not all its world explore, 
Nor could it if a hundred tongues were mine, 
A hundred mouths and voice of iron. Grant 
Thy favor for a voyage by neighboring shores, 
Ever in reach of land. Nor will I here 



48 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [45-69 

Detain thine ear with false laborious song 
Through twisted preludes winding without end. 



Wild trees that of their native vigor rise 

Into the realms of day, are scant of fruit 

But sound and strong, — the soil such virtue hides. 

Yet if engrafted or in trenches set, 

Are changed and put their sylvan nature by, 

Till to what modes and forms your busy art 

Persuades them, they with slight resistance yield. 

Even the leafless stems which the tree's roots 

Put forth do likewise, if in open field 

Replanted; for the branching foliage 

Of mother-tree o'ershades and blights the fruit 

Before it buds, or withers it when blown. 

Trees grown from seed have slow maturity 

And unto children's children give their shade. 

Their fruit is tasteless and degenerate; 

The wild vine's grape to robber birds is given. 

For all, I ween, must labors hard and slow 

Be measured out; all must in trench and row 

Be disciplined and at large cost subdued. 

The olive-trees from leafless truncheons spring, 

Vines out of layers, and from solid wood 

The Paphian myrtle. Hardy hazels start 

From suckers; this way too the mighty ash, 

And poplar, leafy crown of Hercules, 

And acorns of Chaonian Jove; thus too 

The soaring palm is born, and mountain fir, 

Erewhile to tempt the hazards of the sea. 

But when engrafted, the tough arbute springs 



70-95] GEORGIC II 49 

From walnut stock, the barren plane-tree bears 
Excellent apples, chestnuts change to beech, 
The mountain ash turns white with blossoming pear, 
And swine crunch acorns under elm-tree shade. 

Nor is there one sole way to graft and bud: 

For where young eyes from the tree's bark swell forth, 

Bursting their tender sheaths, a slit is made 

Just at the knot; and here they fasten in 

The shoot from stranger tree, and bid it thrive 

In the moist sapwood. Or smooth trunks are gashed, 

And wedges through the solid timber driven, 

Then fruit-tree scions set : in no long time 

The tall tree skyward lifts its laden boughs 

And sees with wonder what strange leaves it bears 

And fruitage not its own. 

Not all one kind 
Are strong elms, willows, or the cypress glooms 
Of Ida, or the lotos trees; not one 
Are the rich olives, spindle : shaped, or round, 
Or bitter-oiled; all sorts of apples fine 
And many a fruit Alcinous' orchards bear. 
So the Crustumians, the bergamots, 
And big pound-pears come not upon one stem. 
Nor is the vintage of our native vine 
Like grape of Lesbos in Methymna grown. 
The Thasian wines we know and white Egyptian, 
One from fat soil and one from sandy sprung. 
Psithian is raisin-wine, and Lageos 
Will soon betray thy feet and stop thy tongue. 
Purples and early-ripes there are, — but what 



50 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [96-119 

Of wine Cisalpine ? Few would call it peer 

Of the Falernian cask. The Aminaean 

Are wines of body and outranking far 

Both Lydian mount and Chian promontory. 

The lesser Argite grape surpasses all 

In plenteous juice and quality that lasts 

Year after year. The wine of Rhodes I sing, 

Good for libation and the banquet's end, 

And thee, Bumastus, — how thy clusters swell ! 

But of the multitude of names and kinds 

There is no reckoning and all numbers fail. 

Let him attempt it who would guess the sands 

Whirled by swift blasts along the Libyan wild, 

Or number, when the galleys meet great gales, 

The surge of waves along Ionian shores. 

But all lands have not power all gifts to bear: 

Willows spring up by streams, and alders thrive 

In bogs and mire; but high on rock-strewn hills 

The wild ash grows; the shores of lake or sea 

Have groves of myrtle; while on sunny slopes 

The wine-god smiles, and yews love wind and cold. 

See how the world's remotest bound is tilled 
By far-off husbandmen: the Arabs dwell 
Where morn first breaks, and in cold Scythia rove 
Tattooed Geloni. Trees are likewise born 
In separate fatherlands : black ebony 
Is India's boast alone, the incense-tree 
Breathes but in Araby. What need to name 
That wood which oozes balsam, or the fruit 
Of evergreen acanthus ? or the groves 



120-144] GEORGIC II 51 

Of Aethiopia whitened with soft wool ? 
Or silken Seres and their skill to comb 
Translucent fleeces from the leaves of trees 
Which ocean-bordering India bears, which seems 
Earth's last retreat ? For no far-soaring flight 
Of arrows e'er can pass that forest's crown, 
Though bowmen mighty are, the people's pride. 
Media the healthful citron bears, its juice 
Bitter, but lingering long upon the tongue. 
Than which none better (if some step-dame fell 
Have mixed her simples, singing fearful charms) 
To bring swift help and mightily expel 
The secret venom from her victim's bones. 
Tall and like laurel is this citron tree, 
And but for the far- wafted strange perfume, 
Laurel 'twould be; no wind can loose its leaf; 
The blossoms, too, cling fast. With this the Medes 
Sweeten their bad breath, and with this they cure 
An old man's rheums. 

But neither flowering groves 
Of Media's rich realm, nor Ganges proud, 
Nor Lydian fountains flowing thick with gold, 
Can match their glories with Italia; 
Not Bactria nor Ind, nor all the wealth 
Of wide Arabia's incense-bearing sands. 
This land by Jason's bulls with breath of flame 
Never was ploughed, nor planted with the teeth 
Of monstrous dragon, nor that harvest grew 
Of helmed warrior-heads and myriad spears. 
But full-eared corn and goodly Massic wine 
Inhabit here, with olives and fat herds. 



52 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [145-168 

The war-horse here with forehead high in air 

Strides o'er the plain; here roam thy spotless flocks, 

Clitumnus; and for noblest sacrifice, 

The snow-white bull, bathed oft in sacred stream, 

Leads Roman triumphs to the house of Jove. 

Here Spring is endless and the Summer glows 

In months not half her own. Twice in the year 

The herds drop young, and twice the orchard bears 

The labor of its fruit. But tigers fell 

And the fierce lion's brood are absent here. 

No deadly aconite deceives the hand 

That gathers herbs; nor in enormous folds 

Or lengthened twine the scaly snake upcoils. 

Behold the famous cities — what vast toil 

Upreared them ! — and the host of strongholds piled 

By hand of man on out-hewn precipice, 

While swift streams under ancient bulwarks flow. 

Why tell of two salt seas that wash her shore 

Above, below; her multitude of lakes, — 

Thee, Larius, chiefest, and Benacus where 

Are swelling floods and billows like the sea ? 

Why name that haven where the lofty mole 

Locks in the Lucrine lake, while with loud rage 

The baffled waters roar, and Julian waves 

Echo from far the sea's retreating tide, 

And through the channels of Avernus pours 

Th' invading Tuscan main? In this rich land 

Deep veins of silver show, and ores for brass, 

With lavish gold. Hence sprang the warlike breed 

Of Marsi, hence the proud Sabellian clans, 

Ligurians to hardship seasoned well, 



169-193] GEORGIC II 53 

And Volscian spearmen; hence the Decii, 
Camilli, Marii, immortal names, 
The Scipios, in wars implacable, 
And Caesar, thou, the last, the prince of all, 
S Who now victorious on far Asia's end, 
Art holding back from Roman citadels 
The Indian weakling. Hail, O Saturn's land, 
Mother of all good fruits and harvests fair, 
Mother of men ! I for thy noble sake 
Attempt these old and famous themes and dare 
Unseal an age-long venerated spring 
And uplift Hesiod's song o'er Roman towers. 

Now for the soils and of their native powers : 

First, the bad lands, the hills ungenerous, 

With spongy marl and gravel and thick thorns, 

Can bloom with clusters unto Pallas dear 

Of long-enduring olive; such are known 

If on the same field oleasters throng, 

And scatter on the ground their sylvan fruit. 

But where rich mould is, moist and prosperous, 

With much green herb — a field of fertile breast, 

Such as from some cool, hollow mountain-glen 

We oft look o'er, where tall cliffs from above 

Small streams drop down and bring their gift of loam, 

A southward slope, and bearing crops of fern, 

That pest of ploughmen, — such a land some day 

Will bear sound vines and grapes of plenteous juice; 

Many its clusters, and in Bacchus' praise 

'Twill give such wine as pours from cups of gold 

When on his ivory flute, the altars nigh, 



54 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [194-217 

The full-cheeked Tuscan blows, and on curved trays 

We bear the smoking entrails to the god. 

But if with kine and calves thy business be, 

Or new-born lambs, or garden-spoiling goats, 

Seek prosperous Tarentum's distant glens, 

Or pastures such as ill-starred Mantua lost, 

Where swans snow-white in green-sedged waters feed. 

There shall thy flocks find many a fountain free 

And grass unfailing; for what each long day 

Thy creatures take, the short night's cooling dews 

Restore in full. 

Earth that is almost black, 
Rich when upturned, a loose and crumbling soil, 
Such as ploughs make by art, for all grain-crops 
Is fittest; from no other wide-spread mead 
So many loaded wains at eve are drawn 
By slow-paced oxen home. Or choose some field 
From which erewhile the farmer, frowning hard, 
Dragged off the forest and destroyed a grove 
So long unprofitable, — every root 
He takes, and lofty tops, the dwelling-place 
Of birds year after year, who quit their nests 
And skyward soar; yet soon the boorish land 
By ploughshare furrowed, comes out dressed and fine. 
But hillocks of dry gravel scarcely yield 
Wild cassias for thy bees and rosemary. 
A scaling tufa, or loose chalk with holes 
By black snakes eaten in, — no lands like these 
For winding lairs of serpents and their food. 
But if the downs exhale white mist at morn 
With shifting vapors and take in at will 



218-243] GEORGIC II 55 

Moist air or breathe it forth, and ever wear 
Their own fresh, grassy mantle, yet not stain 
With salty scales of rust the plough's bright blade, 
Such land will wreathe the elm with fruitful vines; 
Plenteous in olives too; the farmer's toil 
Finds it to herds a friend and to his plough 
Obedient. Such land rich Capua tills; 
Such the Vesuvian slopes, where Clanius flows, 
Acerrae's waster and unpitying foe. 

I now set forth what way each kind of soil 

Can be distinguished. Would you test 

Its lightness or unwonted heaviness — 

Since one for corn is apter, one for wine, 

Heavy for Ceres, for the Wine-god, light, — 

Seek out a likely spot, and bid them sink 

A deep pit in the ground; then shovel back 

All the earth taken and stamp down the top 

Till level; if the mass fall short, the soil 

Is light, and fertile for flock-pasturing 

Or plenteous vines ; but if the earth refuse 

To go back whence it came, the soil is thick; 

Look for rebellious clods and furrow it 

With sturdy oxen. Then some land is salt 

And bitter, so they say, for fruits unfit, 

Ungentle to the plough, where Bacchus' grapes 

Degenerate, and choice apples lose their praise. 

Test it as follows : take down willow crates 

From smoky roof-tree, or the strainers hung 

From wine-press beam, and in them thrust this soil 

Mixed with some clear spring-water, and stamp down 



56 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [244-269 

Till all the water be forced out, and drops — 

Large, round ones — through the baskets run. 

The savor will be proof, if those who taste 

Pucker their faces at its bitterness. 

Next, a rich soil is known by one sure sign: 

It never breaks when tossed from palm to palm 

But clings to the smeared fingers like soft pitch. 

A wet land grows rank weeds, but is in fact 

Too fertile; let not mine o'er-generous be, 

Nor give my corn's first blades excess of power. 

To tell what soil is heavy, what is light, 

The mere weight shows. And one can judge by sight 

Whether too black, or of what hue so-e'er. 

But to detect if that curst chill it hides 

Is very hard, — tough pines and baneful yews 

Or rambling ivies dark are oft a sign. 

But all this noted, take industrious care 

To let the land be long time dried in the sun. 

Carve the hills deep with trenches, and long time 

Before you plant the joyful vine, expose 

The upturned clod where blow the northern winds. 

Fields of loose earth are best; winds, chilling frosts, 

And sturdy digging of the broken field, 

Will make it such. 

Some men who spare no pains 
Find two like fields : in one young shoots of trees 
Are set, but to the other carried soon, 
Lest the new slips their change of home refuse. 
Some even write the quarters of the sky 
Upon the bark, that as the tree faced first 



270-292] GEORGIC II 57 

It may remain — one side to sultry south, 
The other to the pole. So loth to change 
Are a young creature's ways. 

But first inquire 
Whether on hills or plain to set thy vines. 
If rich and level be the land you choose, 
Plant close, for vines give no less plenteous yield 
When close; but for a mounded land or hills 
Steep sloping, set in fair and ordered lines, 
Planting the vines with measure scrupulous, 
Till each long path with every crossing squares. 
Thus oft the long-drawn legion's bulk deploys 
Its cohorts for vast war, and all the line 
Stands visibly afield with marshalled front, 
While far and wide the land in waves of light 
Is glittering with steel; not yet 
Begins the grim strife; 'twixt the hosts in arms 
The War-god dubious of the issue strays. 

So must the vineyard have its spaces laid 
In measures just, not only to rejoice 
Some idle gazer's mind, but that this way 
The earth lends equal shares of life to all, 
And with free room the branching shoots extend. 
You ask, perhaps, what depth of trench is best. 
The vines in mere light furrow, as I think, 
'Tis safe to plant; but deeper in the ground 
Far down make fast the tree, and most of all 
The oak, which far as toward th' ethereal sky 
Its crest uprears, so far to space below 
Sends forth the roots to Tartarus; no winds, 



58 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [293-317 

No shock of wintry gale nor drenching storm 
O'erwhelm its power; unvanquished it abides 
Even to children's children, and outlives 
In vigorous age full many a mortal span; 
Reaching its boughs far round like giant's arms, 
It bears with bulk unpropped its burdening shade. 
Face not your vineyards to the setting sun. 
Suffer no hazels planted there, nor prune 
The end-stalks, nor from very tree-top take 
Your cuttings, for plants love to live near earth; 
Nor clip young budding stems with knife not keen; 
Nor let wild-olive poles be used; for oft 
From careless shepherds a chance spark will fall, 
Which first hides smouldering in the oily bark, 
Keeping the solid wood; soon unconfined 
It gets the leaves above and fills the air 
With roarings loud; then on from bough to bough 
Pursues, till to the loftiest crests its power 
Triumphant spreads, o'ermantles all the grove 
With glare of flames, drives heavenward a cloud 
Thick and pitch-black; and if by chance should fall 
A sweep of storm, o'erbrooding all the hills, 
Its blast drives on the swelling fires. No more 
Can vines thereafter grow, not even their roots, 
Nor pruning close draw greenness from that ground, 
Only the bitter-leaved wild olive lives. 

But let no counsellor, though ne'er so sage, 
Bid you the crusted field disturb when blows 
The wind of Boreas, and cold winter seals 
The land with frost, nor lets the scattered seeds 



318-342] GEORGIC II 59 

Or stiffened roots make dwelling in the ground. 
Set vines at seed-time, when the blush of Spring 
Brings back the stork, of long, black snakes the foe; 
Or at first autumn coolness, when the sun 
Has driven his steeds not yet to winter's bound, 
Though summer is no more. But, sooth, 'tis Spring 
Lends leafing orchard and the woodside green 
Her help and succor; in the Spring the earth 
Swells warm and bids the seeds of life begin. 
Then will th' almighty Sire from heights of air 
Descend in life-engendering showers to fill 
Earth's bosom, his glad spouse, and mightily 
With her vast body mingling, brings to power 
All unborn things she bears. With song-birds then 
The tangled brakes are loud, and lowing herds — 
Their season due — live o'er their mating days. 
The whole earth's womb is travailing; the land 
Spreads bare its bosom to the warm west wind, 
And gentle dews feed all. The bladed grass 
Climbs boldly upward to the sun's young beams; 
The tendrilled vine shrinks not from gathering storm 
Nor rout of wind-swept northern rains, but thrusts 
Her soft buds forth and every leaf unfolds. 
Such were the days, I could believe, that glowed 
When earth her growth began, — such even course 
That season kept; all winds from east and north 
Forebore their wintry blasts; the first flocks then 
Drank in the radiant air; with lifted head 
Man's iron breed from stone-strewn fields arose; 
Beasts through the woods and stars through heaven 
went forth. 



60 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [343-368 

For new-born, tender things had ne'er endured 

Life's labor, but that 'twixt too hot or cold 

This time of quiet interposing stays, 

And earth 'neath heaven's indulgence rests and smiles. 

But to proceed : o'er young vines set afield 

Scatter rich stores of dung, and carefully 

Heap high with earth; or spade in porous stones 

Or rough, old shells, that streams of trickling rain 

May through them glide, or light-blown mists steal down. 

Thus all the plants will thrive. Some husbandmen 

Press flat stones over them and heavy mass 

Of potsherds, — bulwark against beating showers, 

Or when the sultry Dog Star splits the field 

In thirsty cracks. Next, after planting thus, 

Do much loose raking, even to the roots, 

Or sometimes stir the soil by ploughing deep, 

Guiding the trampling cattle's feet with care 

Between the rows of vines. Then choose smooth reeds 

And peeled wands, like spears, and ashwood poles, 

And stakes two-pronged, by which each shelf of vine 

May have strong props and heed no wind that blows, 

But climb from bough to bough up the tall elm. 

While the young vine is leafing its first green, 

Be to its softness kind. While the gay sprout 

Gads in the breeze and skyward leaps uncurbed, 

Attempt no pruning yet with sickle keen, 

But with your thumb and finger pluck the leaves, 

Selecting wisely. Later when the stems, 

Grown stalwart, clasp the elms in close embrace, 

Then dress their locks and shear the branches well. 



369-394] GEORGIC II 61 

Ere this the knife but mars, yet now is time 
To leash in strict control the straggling boughs. 

Make wattled hedges, too, to hold away 

Creatures of every kind, and most of all 

While yet the soft crest fears no coming harm. 

For worse than winters wild or scorching suns 

Is when huge buffaloes or raiding goats 

Run crowding in, or sheep seek pasture there, 

Or greedy cows. No cold, nor heavy cloak 

Of silver frost, nor even the smiting rays 

From rocks burnt dry, harm vines as such beasts do, 

Whose merciless, foul teeth make lasting scars. 

For this sole crime, where Bacchus' altars rise, 

The goat is ever victim : o'er the stage 

Strut the quaint mimes at revel; Theseus' sons 

At cross-road meeting place or hamlet gay 

Garland the winning wits, then from full cups 

Rise flushed and jolly, and on green-sward fair 

Dance among wine-skins. Even so 

Ausonia's husbandmen, the breed of Troy, 

Make careless verse and mocking laughter loud, 

And direful masks of hollowed bark put on. 

Then jubilant songs, O Bacchus, shout thy name, 

And from some lofty pine thine emblems swing. 

Now every vineyard with large clusters ripe 

Is bursting, every rounded vale runs o'er, 

And deep hill-gorges, if the Wine-god there 

His worship'd head have shown. Therefore we sing 

With fitting rites the praise to Bacchus due, 

Carol old songs and march with bread and bowl 



62 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [395-414 

Where led up horn- wise to our altar green 
The goat awaits his offering; erewhile 
On rods of hazel the fat caul we turn. 



Yet for the laborers in the vineyard waits 

A further toil, of which there is no end. 

For yearly the whole field must furrowed be 

Thrice and again, and everlastingly 

The clods be broke with mattock deeply driven, 

And all the planting clean-stripped of its leaves. 

The labors of the husbandmen return 

In cycles sent, as th' heaven-encircling year 

Doth its old paths pass o'er. For even when 

The vineyard its last leaf has lost, and cold 

Winds of the north fling off the forest's crown, 

The farmer even then prolongs his toils 

Into the opening year, and with curved edge 

Of Saturn's sickle shearing, pruning still, 

Pursues his naked vine and shapes it round. 

Be earliest, I counsel, to dig o'er 

Your field, be first to burn the boughs 

You bear away in bundles, and to bring 

The poles and props safe home; but be the last 

To gather harvest in. Vines put forth shade 

Excessive twice a year, and twice thick thorns 

And tares would choke their yield; 'gainst either ill 

Hard task it is to strive. Therefore admire 

Wide-spreading acres; let your own be few. 

Besides, in woodlands prickly stems of broom 
Must gathered be, tall reeds at river's marge, 



415-438] GEORGIC II 63 

And osiers wild, with which the vines are bound. 
No pruning now, but o'er his finished rows 
The toil-worn keeper of the vineyard sings. 
Yet even now the soils must be raked loose, 
The dry earth not let crust; and even when ripe 
The cluster's peril is Jove's rainy sky. 
Far otherwise, the olive's growth requires 
Slight skill or care : of sickle's rounded blade 
Or harrows diligent they have no need; 
But when well rooted in the clod, resist 
Assaulting winds. The common soil supplies 
Moisture enough, and broken by the plough 
Full fruitage gives. Therefore fail not to plant 
The plenteous olive, blessed leaf of peace. 

Fruit orchards, in like wise, when on firm stock 
Once grafted, have a native energy 
And by their own impulsion skyward climb, 
Not asking help of ours. And equally 
The greenwood wild its proper harvest shows 
Of crimson berries on bird-haunted boughs. 
Clover grows wild. The loftier forest gives 
Our torches and the hearthstone's night-long fire 
With liberal light. Who but must grateful be 
Such gifts to labor for ? Why further tell 
Of willows pale or broom-plant's lowly stem, 
Which feed the flock, afford the shepherd shade 
And hedge his garden's close with honied flowers ? 
How fair the sight of wind-swept boxwood groves, 
Of orient birth ! or fir trees, mountain-born, 
And beauteous lands that owe no debt or wage 



64 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [439-461 

To implement of man ! The barren woods 
On highest Caucasus, which furious winds 
Tear limb from limb and tireless whirl away, 
These too give profit : serviceable pine 
For building ships, cypress and cedar beams 
For roof and dwelling-place; the husbandmen 
Now fashion spokes, now hew them solid wheels 
For harvest wain, now fit the spreading keels 
Of river craft. The willows bear a crop 
Of basketry and withe, elm leaves are good 
For food and bedding, myrtle boughs are strong 
For javelins, cornel gives help in war, 
And yew trees bend them to fair Syrian bows. 
Smooth lindens, too, and boxwood, to the lathe 
So yielding, take fair shapes and let keen blades 
Hollow them out; the buoyant alder swims 
Along swift swollen waves, launched on the Po; 
While in the cavernous bark and crumbling bole 
Of huge holm-oak the bees their cities hide. 
What equal praise can Bacchus' gift receive, 
Bacchus, so oft occasioner of sin ? 
Frenzied with him the Centaurs were laid low 
In death, — so Rhoetus, Pholus, also died. 
And lo ! Hylaeus o'er the Lapithae 
Swings terrible the monster drinking-bowl ! 

Oh, more than blest, if their true bliss they knew, 
Are tillers of the land ! whose sustenance 
From civil faction far, the righteous earth 
Ungrudgingly bestows. Their house at morn 
Sends forth no lengthening stream of flatterers 



462-483] GEORGIC II 65 

From crowded halls through lofty gates' of pride; 

No columns with rich tortoise jewelled o'er 

Wound envious eyes, nor hangings prankt with gold, 

Nor brass Corinthian, nor once virgin wool 

Tainted with Tyrian poison, nor clean oil 

Of olive with lascivious odors fouled. 

But peace is theirs untroubled and a life 

From falsehoods free, their riches manifold 

Are calm, with ample fields, pools fountain-fed 

Caverns of rest in cold Thessalian vale, 

The lowing herd, soft slumber under trees, 

Green upland coverts, haunt of creatures wild. 

Their youth in labors indefatigable 

Is schooled to few desires; the gods receive 

Fit sacrifice and festal, and old age 

Is hallowed. 'Twas among such country folk 

The Virgin Justice, when she quit mankind, 

Left her last footprints upon earthly ground. 

My fondest prayer is that the Muses dear, 
Life's joy supreme, may take me to their choir, 
Their priest, by boundless ecstasy possessed. 
The heavenly secrets may they show, the stars, 
Eclipses of the sun, the ministries 
Of the laborious moon, why quakes the earth, 
And by what power the oceans fathomless 
Rise, bursting every bound, then sink away 
To their own bed; why wintry suns so swift 
Roll down to ocean's stream; what obstacle 
Opposes then the lingering wheels of night. 
But if to such mysterious domain 



66 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [484-503 

Nature debar my entrance, if the blood 
Flows not so potent in my colder breast, 
Make me true lover of fair field and farm, 
Of streams in dewy vales, of rivers broad 
And lonely forests, far from pomp and fame. 
Oh, for Thessalian wilds and mountain steeps 
Where rove the maenads of Laconia, 
Or in the glens of snowy Thrace to dwell 
In shadow of innumerable boughs ! 

Blest was that man whose vision could explore 

The world's prime causes, conquering for man 

His horde of fears, his certain doom of death 

Inexorable, and the menace loud 

Of hungry Acheron! Yet happy he 

Who knows a shepherd's gods, protecting Pan, 

Sylvan of hoary head, and sisterhoods 

Of nymphs in wave and tree. He lives unmoved 

By public honors or the purple pall 

Of kingly power, or impious strife that stirs 

'Twixt brothers breaking faith, or barbarous host 

Of Dacian raiders from the rebel shores 

Of Danube, or by Rome's imperial care 

And kingdoms doomed to die; he need not weep 

For pity of the poor, nor lustful-eyed 

View great possessions. He plucks mellow fruit 

From his own orchard trees and gathers in 

The proffered harvest of obedient fields. 

Of ruthless laws, the forum's frenzied will, 

Of public scrolls of deed and archive sealed, 

He nothing knows. Let strangers to such peace 



504-523] GEORGIC II 67 

Trouble with oars the boundless seas or fly 

To wars, and plunder palaces of kings; 

Make desolate whole cities, casting down 

Their harmless gods and altars, that one's wine 

May from carved rubies gush, and slumbering head 

On Tyrian pillow lie. A man here hoards 

His riches, dreaming of his buried gold; 

Another on the rostrum's flattered pride 

Stares awe-struck. Him th' applause of multitudes, 

People and senators, when echoed shouts 

Ring through the house approving, quite enslaves. 

With civil slaughter and fraternal blood 

One day such reek exultant, on the next 

Lose evermore the long-loved hearth and home. 

Meanwhile the husbandman upturns the glebe 
With well-curved share, inaugurating so 
The whole year's fruitful toil, by which he feeds 
His native land, his children's children too, 
His flocks and herds, and cattle worth his care. 
Ever the gifts flow on: the liberal year 
Teems with good apples, with the flock's increase, 
And sheaves of tasselled corn; the furrowed fields- 
Bestow in bursting barns their goodly store. 
When winter comes at last, the olive mills 
Receive the sacred fruit, the roving swine 
Bring home full paunch of acorns, greenwood trees 
Drop nut and berry, many autumn fruits 
Still linger, and on sun-kissed, rocky slopes 
Some sweetened clusters hang. The livelong year 
His gathered children to his kisses cling. 



68 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES Z5M-M2 

His honest house lives chastely; full of milk 
Is all his herd, and on his meadows fair 
The lusty he-goats lock their butting horns. 
Such master keeps full well each festal day. 
Couched on green turf around the central fire, 
The revellers with garlands wreath the bowl 
Pouring to thee, Lenaeus, with due prayer. 
For all the shepherds of his flocks he holds 
A match at casting spears, on elm-tree trunk 
Carving the mark; or for the wrestler's crown 
Naked they come with bodies hard as steel. 

Such way of life the ancient Sabines knew, 
And Remus with his twin; thus waxed the power 
Of the Etrurian cities; thus rose Rome 
The world's chief jewel, and with towering wall 
Compassed in one her hills and strongholds seven. 
Yea, and before the Cretan King assumed 
The sceptre of the skies, ere impious man 
Began on murdered flocks to feast his kind, 
Such life on earth did golden Saturn show. 
None heard the trumpet's blast, nor direful clang 
Of smitten anvils loud with shaping swords. 

But now our lengthened course is run to goal; 
From necks of steaming steeds we loosen rein. 



GEORGIC III 

Thee, Pales, mighty power, I next will sing; 
And thee Apollo, theme for many a song, 
A shepherd once in Thessaly; and ye 

streams and forests of Arcadian Pan! 

All other subjects which could charm a mind 
At leisure for a song, are they not staled 
Even to vulgar ears ? Who has not heard 
Of King Eurystheus' pitiless commands 
And infamous Busiris' sacrifice ? 
Who has not the lost lovely Hylas known, 
Or Delos to Latona's travail kind, 
High-born Hippodamas, and Pelops proud, 
The laurelled, ivory-shouldered charioteer ? 

Some new path must be tried if ever I, 
With wing uplifted from the level ground, 
May on the public voice triumphant rise. 

1 will be first, if life be given, to bear 
Home to my native land the Muses' song 
From their Aonian hill. I first to thee, 
My Mantua, will bring Arabian palms. 

My vows shall build thee in the meadows green 
A marble temple near the river's rim, 
Where the wide-watered Mincius winding slow 
In mantle of soft sedge hides all his shore. 
Within the central shrine shall Caesar be 
And the whole temple bless. Before his eyes 



70 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [16-34 

I, clothed in purple garb victorious, 

Will lead a hundred four-horse chariots by, 

Along the river-bank; the youth of Greece, 

Spurning Olympian or Isthmian crown, 

Shall in fleet foot-race for a garland run, 

Or box, well paired, with gauntlets of tough hide. 

Myself will weave of well- trimmed olive leaf, 

A garland for my brows, and offerings bring. 

Even now I see with visionary joy 

The due procession to the shrine, and death 

Of fair, white bulls. 

Or haply there shall be 
A theatre with shifting scene; and when 
The purple curtain lifts to hide the stage, 
The suppliant Britons shall be broidered there. 
I'll carve in massy ivory and gold 
On temple doors the wars of India's sons 
Against the Roman's ever prosperous arms. 
There too the pictured streams of Nile shall move 
With mighty flood and swollen waves of war. 
And lofty columns decked with beaks of brass 
Shall rise in air. Hard by them shall appear 
All Asia's prostrate towns, and snowy peaks 
Of far Armenia smitten and subdued. 
The Parthian in undaunted flight will hurl 
His winged barbs behind; and I will show 
Two trophies, from far-sundered nations won, 
And twice subdued, to grace his triumph day, 
With tribes in chains from either ocean's shore. 
There I will raise in breathing Parian stone 
The statues of his far-descended line 



35-54] GEORGIC III 71 

The offspring of Assaracus, the men 

Of Jove's begetting, kingly sires of Troy, 

And Troy's first builder, the bright Cynthian god. 

Envy accurst, unhappy, will behold 

Avenging Furies and with terror see 

The cruel stream of Hades, the coiled snakes, 

And Sisyphus with ever frustrate stone. 

But ere such song is mine, I must abide 

In leafy forest and untrodden glades 

Among the wood-nymphs. O Maecenas, thou 

Hast laid this not light task upon my muse. 

Without thy help and smile my thoughts attempt 

Nothing of noble note. Up then! away! 

Tarry no more ! I hear the huntsmen fling 

Their loud halloo along Cithaeron's vale, 

The hounds of Sparta run and noble steeds, 

The pride of Argos, while the vocal groves 

Make answering duplications of the sound. 

Yet shall I at no distant hour be bold 

To gird me for a song in Caesar's praise, 

His famous battles tell, and send his fame 

To future ages distant as the day 

Of old Tithonus' birth from Caesar's own. 

Whoe'er ambitious for Olympian palms, 
Breeds horses or strong bullocks for the plough, 
Must make the choice of mothers his first care. 
For cattle, take one of grim-lowering brows 
With ugly head, strong neck, and dew-lap dropped 
From chin to knee; and be the generous flank 



72 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [35-77 

Long to excess; let every part appear 

Of large proportion, even her wide-spread hoof 

And thick-shagged ears beneath the twisted horn. 

One with white spots I favor most, whose head 

Butts at the yoke rebelliously; her look 

Is rather like a bull's; her stature tall; 

Her tail-tip sweeps her hoof-prints as she goes. 

The age for motherhood and Hymen's laws 

Ceases at ten years, ripens after four; 

Her later time is neither apt to breed 

Nor vigorous for the plough. Take heed likewise 

To choose the sires while the flush of youth 

Still in the herd prevails. Delay not long 

The mating of young cattle, but supply 

An oft succeeding offspring to the herd. 

Life's first, best season soon takes flight away 

From hapless, mortal creatures; then disease 

Arrives, with weariness and sad old age, 

Till death, the harsh and ruthless, sweeps away. 

Thy herd has always certain few whose shape 

Thou seekest to improve. Let them breed oft; 

And lest too late thou watch its numbers wane, 

Foster each year the fruitful tribe's increase. 

Breed horses with not less selective skill; 

The males, who give the breed increase, 

Watch from their tenderest youth. The colt 

Of noble line steps somewhat loftily 

Along the field, and his soft pasterns show 

An easy motion. Bold is he, and prompt 

To try a strange path, ford a threatening stream, 



78-98] GEORGIC III 73 

Or dare an unknown bridge, nor has he fear 

Of harmless noises. His neck arches high, 

The head is outlined clear, the belly short, 

Back broad; his vigorous and brawny breast 

Has swelling muscles. The superior hues 

Are dappled or bright bay, the least approved 

Are white and sorrel. If the clash of arms 

Rings from afar, he will not be restrained; 

His ears prick up, the limbs quake, and he pours 

From eager nostrils the swift-gathering fire. 

Luxuriant his mane, which tosses free 

Down his right shoulder; twixt his ample loins 

The chine runs double; deep into the ground 

Cuts his resounding hoof of ponderous horn. 

Such steed was Cyllarus who felt the reins 

Of Pollux, Leda's son; such also they, 

Renowned in Grecian song, the well-matched team 

Of Mars; or that immortal pair which drew 

The chariot of Peleus' mighty son: 

Such also was swift Saturn, when he fled 

His jealous wife's discovery, and flung 

From neck disguised a stallion's rippling mane, 

Lifting to Pelion's top a loud, shrill neigh. 

But even such, if sickness drag him down 
Or in slow lapse of years he droOp and fail, 
Hide safe at home and mercifully spare 
His not despised old age. An aged steed 
Is cold to Venus' call and fruitlessly 
Attempts th' unwelcome proof; or if erewhile 
He rise to the encounter, his heat burns 



74 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [99-121 

In vain, as oft an ineffectual fire 

Runs on through stubble. Therefore chiefly note 

The horse's years and of what quality 

His mettle and condition; after this 

What sort his sires have bred, and if he seem 

To sorrow in defeat and feel proud joy 

When winner of the palm. Who has not seen 

In what impetuous contest o'er the plain 

The rival chariots from the barrier pour, 

While kindling hopes the charioteers impel, 

And throbs of fear each eager heart possess ? 

Along the twisted lash they forward lean 

And fling free rein; on speeds the burning wheel; 

Now plunging low, now leaping to the sky, 

Through vacant air the wild yoke seems to rise 

Or on the winds to soar; no stop or stay; 

Up rolls the yellow dust; their smoking flanks 

Reek with hot foam-flakes and the followers' breath. 

So dear to them is praise, and victory 

So worth the pains ! 

'Twas Erichthonius 
Who first dared yoke him in the chariot 
Four steeds together and o'er whirling wheels 
Drive forth to victory. The Lapithae 
Of Thessaly were earliest to lay 
The rein on mounted barb and bid him move 
Obedient in the ring; they lessoned first 
The noble knight-at-arms to pace the ground 
With lofty-curvetting on stately steed. 
Each kind of horsemanship needs equal care; 
In either the wise masters of the art 



122-140] GEORGIC III 75 

Choose mettle, spirit, speed, and hot, young blood, 

Though haply once some older horse has chased 

The flying foe in war, or boasts a sire 

Of famous lineage from Epirus' shore, 

Or walled Mycenae, or of ancient breed 

Traced back to Neptune's primal gift divine. 

These points observed, men train the chosen sire 

Against the breeding-time with generous fare, 

And strive to make the husband of the herd 

Full-fleshed and strong; they cut him tender grass, 

Give corn and much fresh water, that his strength 

Suffice him for his labor of delight; 

For none but weak colts come of ill-fed sires. 

The herd of mares however is reduced 

To leanness, by design; and when the heat 

For mating first appears, they are restrained 

From cropping leafy food or drinking long 

At copious springs; 'tis often well-advised 

To run them hard and sweat them in the sun 

What time the threshing floor is heaped up high 

With trodden corn, and clouds of chaff are flung 

Abroad upon the winnowing, western wind. 

This do they lest fertility should fail, 

As if in furrows rankly overgrown; 

And that the procreant power be entertained 

With appetite, and hidden deep away. 

After the mating days one watches less 
The weal of sires, and mothers need thy care. 
When they have wandered with a burdened womb, 
For months gone by, no longer such employ 



76 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [141-161 

Yoked in a loaded wain, nor urge them on 

At gallop o'er the highway, or allow 

To hurry through the fields and swollen streams. 

But in still valleys let them feed, beside 

Smooth-watered streams, where beds of moss abound, 

Or soft, green grass grows nigh the river's edge, 

Or sheltering caves o'erarch with rock-thrown shade. 

But near the woods of Silarus, and where 

Alburnus' ilex groves wear living green, 

A gad-fly swarms (whose native Roman name, 

Asilus, turns to Oestros in the Greek). 

'Tis merciless, and with vociferous rage 

Whirs loud, till oft whole herds in panic wild 

Run scattering through the wood; the smitten sky 

And all the forests by thy shallow stream, 

Tanagrus, echo far the bellowing sound. 

Once Juno with this cruel prodigy 

Wreaked her revenge, when she contrived to plague 

The heifer Io, chased from land to land. 

This insect which beneath the blaze of noon 

Is fiercer yet, must to thy pregnant herd 

Never come nigh; 'twere better thou shouldst drive 

Afield at early dawn, or let them feed 

When dim stars lead the vanguard of the night. 

After their birth, transfer thy skill and care 
To the young calves, and brand them every one 
With marks of pedigree, or signs to tell 
Which shall be breeders, which to altars brought 
For sacrifice, or which shall plough the ground, 
Breaking the clod in rough, unfurrowed fields. 



162-184] GEORGIC III 77 

The general herd may roam the meadows green, 

But those that for some useful rustic toil 

Thou wouldst prepare, must, while but tender calves, 

Be disciplined, and lessoned to obey 

In docile youth's responsive, plastic hour. 

First braid beneath their throats an easy band 

Of pliant osier; when the necks, once free, 

Accept this servitude, then match in pairs, 

Joining the collars, and compel the team 

To walk in step ; soon let them daily draw 

Unloaded wagons through the field, and make 

Light hoof prints in the dust; but afterward 

Let laboring, beechen axle creak and strain 

Beneath their burden, and the brass-tipped pole 

Compel the wheels below. Nor at this time 

Keep thy half -broken steers on grass alone, 

Nor niggard willow-leaf and swamp-grown reeds, 

But feed them grain by hand. Nor let the cows 

Brim the white milk-pails full, as used to be 

The habit of our fathers, but each day 

Give generous udders to their offspring dear. 

But if thy hopes and wishes rather turn 
To war, to troops of charging cavalry, 
Or where Alpheus rolls to speed swift wheels 
At Elis, and by Pisa's olives wild 
Hallowed of Jove, to urge the flying car, — 
See that thy chosen courser early learns 
To face proud warriors in arms, to bear 
The scream of trumpet and the thundering 
Of chariots as they pass; in the stall, too, 



78 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [185-206 

Let him hear clanking bit and bridle chain. 

He must exult if his dear rider's voice 

Shout in his praise, and love the friendly hand 

That claps his neck so loud. These noises all 

From the first day that weans him from his dam 

Should often meet his ear. Put soft bits too 

Between his tender lips while yet his frame 

Is trembling, weak and scarcely touched of time. 

After three summers past, the fourth at hand, 

Train him to gallop circles and to prance 

With even-sounding step, to paw the air 

With freely-lifted knees. His work should show 

Strong effort; afterward the racer's speed 

Will shame the winds, as under loosened rein 

Along the open course he skims, he flies, 

Scarce printing his light hoof-tips in the sand. 

'Tis like that wind from Hyperborean clime 

That charging down o'er Scythia's wintry plains 

Scatters the rainless clouds; the harvest fields 

Of bending corn and liquid lakes outspread 

Heave in the ceaseless blast; the forest's top 

Screams loud, and long waves pound the sandy shore, 

As onward sweeps the gale o'er flood and field. 

Such steed will sweat him at Olympian goals. 

Circling the race-course, bathed in bloody foam, 

Or haply with an easier yoke will bear 

Some traveller's coach along the Belgic land. 

When schooled and broken thus, thou mayst allow 
Corn liberally mixed, and let his frame 
Yet larger grow; but if an untrained colt 



207-228] GEORGIC III 79 

Feed high, his spirits will too much abound, 
And even if harnessed, will not deign to bear 
The sinuous lash or heed hard-curbing reins. 
But naught of discipline so fortifies 
A powerful beast as that he be restrained 
From joy of Venus and blind passion's goad, 
Whether the bull or stallion be thy care. 
Therefore the bull is exiled and confined 
In lonely fields, where ramparts of steep hills 
Confront him or wide-sundering waters flow, 
Or at full mangers captive must he stand. 
Sight of his female wastes his strength away 
By slow degrees, and bids him seek no more 
Green pasture or cool woodland; for her charm 
Sweetly entices, and her wooers proud 
In horn-locked duel the wild suit decide. 

Behold on mighty Sila's uplands broad 

That fair-flanked heifer in the herbage green! 

Yonder the bulls, exchanging many a wound, 

Do battle mightily; dark streaming gore 

Their bodies bathes, as with opposed horns 

Struggling and thrusting they make bellowings loud, 

While groves and vaulted skies the din prolong. 

No longer now the rivals in that war 

Dwell in one field; the fallen chief withdraws, 

Bound to far exile in some land unknown, 

Lamenting loud his shame, and many a wound 

The haughty victor gave; but mourning more 

The loss of her he loved, still unavenged, 

He quits with backward glance his native fields. 



80 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [229-250 

Henceforth he tests and trains his vanquished powers 

With painful care; he sullenly reclines 

On bare stones for a bed, and for his food 

Crops thorny leafage or sharp-pointed reed. 

He puts himself to proof; he disciplines 

The fury of his horns; butts at a tree; 

Would with his fierce thrusts wound the passing wind, 

And tosses up loose turf, rehearsing war. 

Soon gathering all his force, with strength renewed 

He flings his banners forth, provokes the war, 

And hurls him headlong on the slumbering foe. 

'Tis thus some huge wave from the open sea 

Begins far off to whiten, then uplifts 

Its swelling breast and swiftly landward rolls, 

Roars monstrous through the rocks and forward falls 

Like a great mountain, while the watery deep 

Boils up in whirling, eddying surge and flings 

Aloft in air a cloud of darkening sand. 

For all terrestrial kinds, or beast or man, 
All Ocean's brood and flocks of bright-hued birds 
Haste to the same fierce fire. One power of love 
Possesses all. Now with unwonted wrath 
Forgetful of her whelps, the lioness 
Will roam the land; now bears of shapeless mould 
Deal death and ravine through the forests wide; 
The boar looks wildest now, the tiger's eye 
Most terrible. Unhappy is the man 
Who travels now the lonely Libyan sands : 
Look how his stallion quakes in every limb, 
Suddenly smitten, if the nostrils keen 



251-269] GEORGIC III 81 

Smell on the wind his mate. No rider's curb 
Can hold him back, nor frantic whip restrain 
Nor even precipitous rocks and caverned hills, 
Nor river in his path, though tumbling waves 
Engulf and steal away the mountain's wall. 
Now will the wild boar on the Sabine hills 
Sharpen his teeth, root up and fling afar 
The forest's earth, rub fiercely on a tree 
His bristly side and toughen where he may 
His shoulders 'gainst a rival's tusky jaw. 

What tale of man's impassioned youth to tell ? 

When love, unpitying, breathes into the bones 

Its boundless fire ? Though bursting clouds of storm 

Roughen the barrier firth, the lover swims 

Through the black, lingering night, though o'er him howl 

The unlocked thunders of the vasty sky, 

And breaking seas along the solemn crags 

Bid him come back; nor can his parents' tears 

Recall him, nor that maiden fond and fair 

Doomed in his cruel death herself to die. 

Why tell how leopards woo, the spotty team 

Of Bacchus' chariot, or hungry tribes 

Of wolves and dogs, or of those battles bold 

The timorous, mild-eyed stags for love will wage ? 

Yet of all raging loves most notable 

Is that of mares, and wildest. Venus' self 

This quality within them breathed, what time 

Hard by the Theban town th' infuriate four 

Devoured the luckless Glaucus limb by limb. 

The mad lust drives them up the pathless steeps 



82 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [270-292 

Of Gargara, or through Bithynian floods 

Of thunderous wave, as over hill and stream 

Dauntless they swim or climb. Soon as their bones 

Kindled with fire (chiefly in the Spring, 

For Spring it is that fans the flame anew) 

They mount conspicuous rocks, and turn to catch 

The breathing zephyr's light caress; for oft, 

Wondrous to tell, ere to a husband given, 

The west wind makes them teem. Then scatter they 

O'er rock-strewn hills and deep-descending dales 

Not to the east nor to the rising sun, 

But to the north and west, or where the south 

Blows, saddening the sky with rain and cold. 

Then flows a slimy fluid from their groin 

Which shepherds rightly call Hippomanes. 

This witches often gather, mix with herbs, 

And mutter on the mixture baleful charms. 

But time runs by, irreparable time, 

As mastered by my subject's charm, I course 

Slowly from point to point. 

Enough is told 
Of herds and horses. Now a second half 
Of my large task remains: wool-bearing sheep 
To tend, and goats, the shaggy-haired; in this 
Is an exceeding toil, but sturdy swains 
Find hope of honor so. My mind, not less, 
Well knows the toil of mastering in fit words 
This humble business. But fond desire 
Impels me the Parnassian steep to climb 
Through fields still virgin; 'twere great joy to pass 



293-314] GEORGIC III 83 

By easy slopes to the Pierian Spring 
Where trace of earlier footstep is not seen. 
O Pales, awe of shepherds, let thy name 
Lend loftier measures to my lowly song. 

First I decree that all the sheep shall feed, 
While waiting for the leafy Spring's return, 
In comfortable folds. Let the hard ground 
Be deeply strewn with straw and carpeted 
With bundles of fresh fern, lest icy frost 
Harm the soft lambs, inducing foul disease 
In foot or fell. I also give command 
The goats shall have good store of arbute boughs, 
And running brooks to drink of. Let the stalls, 
Screened from the wind, confront the winter sun 
And meet his beam at noon, what time 
Aquarius from cold declining star 
Drops on the year's last days his dew and rain. 
For thy goat-flock needs not less thoughtful care 
Than sheep, nor is its use or value less. 
Though chosen fleeces dipped in Tyrian dye 
Fetch handsome profit, yet the she-goats bear 
By twins and triplets; their supply of milk 
Is plenteous, and the more the milk-pail foams 
From well-drawn udder, richer falls the stream 
The more the dug is pressed. Also men sheer 
From hoary, pointed chins of Libyan goats 
The beard, and their long wavy shag, 
To weave a cloth for camps, or for the garb 
Of sailors. A goat-flock will find its food 
In leafy woodlands and the highest peaks 



84 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [315-338 

Of an Arcadian mountain; it will browse 
On thorny vines or hardy shrubs that spread 
On inaccessible slopes; yet of themselves 
Faithfully home they come, and with them lead 
Their little ones, when oft they scarce can lift 
O'er the high door-sill their full, swinging bags. 
Since, then, these ask so little anxious care 
Of mortal man, protect them with all heed 
From wintry frost and storms of wind and snow: 
Give them good fare, fresh twigs, and hay enough 
From open barns through all the season's cold. 

But when glad summer and the zephyr's voice 
Call forth both flocks to dale and meadow green, 
Then to cool pastures let us haste along 
While beams the morning star and dawn is new, 
While every sod is glistening and the flocks 
Find on the tender grass the sweet, fresh dew. 
But when the day's fourth hour bids thirst return, 
And locusts wake the copse with plaintive song, 
Then at the wells or cisterns large and full 
Deep let the creatures drink a flowing stream 
From wooden runnels. Later, at high noon, 
Lead to a shaded vale, where Jove's great oak, 
Long-lived and strong, flings forth its mighty boughs, 
Or where some dark-leaved grove of ilex trees 
Sleeps in its solemn shade. A second time 
Lead them to watering and feed once more 
At sundown, when the cooling twilight star 
Makes milder air, and o'er a freshened vale 
Rises the dewy moon; from river shore 
Kingfishers cry, the finch from briar and thorn. 



339-362] GEORGIC III 85 

What if I tell thee in my lengthened rhyme 

Of Libyan shepherds, of their far-spread range 

And the rude tents they dwell in ? Day and night, 

Or for a whole month long, their flocks find food 

Over vast deserts roving, — the great plain 

Stretches so far. Numidia's herdsman bears 

All his wealth with him, house and household gods, 

His arms, his faithful dog of Spartan breed, 

His Cretan quiver. Carrying so his arms, 

The Roman legionary, burdened sore, 

Takes his far journey to an alien land, 

And fronts his foe before th' expected hour 

In well-pitched camp and ordered lines of war. 

Far different is man's life where Scythia's tribes 

By the wide waters of Maeotis stray, 

Where Danube rolls its troubled, tawny waves, 

And where the ridge of Thracian Rhodope 

To southward curves. All cattle there are kept 

In well-closed barns; for in that land is seen 

No grass, no greenwood fair, but all the plain 

Lies shapeless in great banks of snow, 

Frozen deep down and drifted seven ells high. 

'Tis winter without end, and ceaseless blows 

The frosty northern gale. Seldom the sun 

Can break the dismal gloom — nor when his team 

Bear him along th' ethereal sky, nor when 

He dips his sinking car in crimsoned seas. 

On the swift-coursing river suddenly 

Congeals a solid crust, and soon the stream 

Sustains the rolling weight of iron wheels, 

Once a ship's channel, now a wagon road. 



6 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [363-385 

Brass cauldrons burst asunder, oftentimes 

The garments stiffen on one's body, casks of wine 

Are broken piecemeal with an axe, whole ponds 

Are turned to solid ice, and icicles 

Upon a man's rough beard grow stiff and strong. 

The whole wide realm of air continually 

Is thick with falling snow, the flocks and herds 

Perish, the mighty forms of oxen stand 

Frost covered, and a line of huddling deer 

Lie torpid under heavy snow, just seen 

By their protruding horns. In hunting these 

No hounds run forth, no net or snare is laid, 

No crimson feathers cheat the trembling herd; 

But while they vainly breast the drifted snows 

Men slay them at close quarters with sharp steel. 

They fall loud moaning, and their conquerors 

With shouts of exultation bear them home. 

For in large caverns, burrowed under ground, 

The hunters live in safety and at ease. 

Oak boughs heaped high, whole logs of giant elm 

They roll upon the hearth to feed the blaze. 

Long nights they pass in wassail and good cheer 

And imitate our vintage with full bowls 

Of bitter cider and strong, yeasty brews. 

Such is the tameless race of mighty men 

That keep their flocks beneath the arctic star, 

And by Cimmerian tempests buffeted 

In tawny furs of beasts their bodies clothe. 

If wool thy business be, let prickly shrubs, 
Thornbush and burr, be absent from thy fields. 



GEORGIC III 87 

Yet fattening herbage shun, and early choose 

White, soft-fleeced sheep, observing well the sires. 

For though a ram be spotless, if his tongue 

Look black about the palate, then beware 

Lest he should blot the fleeces of his breed 

With dusky flaws. Go, fetch thee in his stead 

Another from thy fields, in fleece all snow. 

Arcadian Pan, if ancient lore be true, 

Lured thee, O goddess moon, to be his love, 

Then won thee and embraced. To wild wood shades 

He called thee, and thou didst not scorn the call. 

But if thy trade is milk, let thine own hands 

Bring heap of lotos leaves and flowering stems 

Of the tall clover, and the mangers fill 

With salted grass. The flocks then sate their thirst 

At flowing streams, their full bags rounding well, 

And lending salty relish to the milk. 

Some from the dams the new-born kids restrain, 

Muzzling their lips with steel. What milk is drawn 

At daybreak or in daytime, the next night 

Goes to the cheese-press; but if drawn at dark 

Or sunset hour, the shepherd in the morn 

Carries it curded to the market-place 

In wicker bowls, or salting frugally 

Shelves it at home to swell his winter store. 

Nor be thy dogs last cared for. The swift hounds 

Of Sparta or the fierce Molossian breed, 

Feed both alike on rich whey. Fear not then 

Thieves in the night, nor wolves about thy fold 

Nor wandering gipsies creeping up unseen. 

Full often with thy dogs thou shalt pursue 



88 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [410-432 

The shy wild ass, the rabbit or the doe; 

Oft from wet lair in underbrush or fen 

Thy dogs shall start the boar and chase him far, 

Loud-barking; or along the lofty hills 

Vociferous drive into thy net the deer. 

Learn also in thy folds betimes to burn 

Sweet cedar and with fumes of galbanum 

To drive the evil-smelling serpents off. 

For under stalls uncared for often lurks 

The stinging adder, he that fearful flies 

From sunshine; or that snake is there whose haunt 

Is under ambush in the darksome ground, 

A ruthless scourge of cattle. 'Gainst the earth 

He coils close, slavering poison on the herd. 

Pick up a stone, my shepherd, find a club ! 

And where his proud neck stretches, hissing, swoln, — 

Down with him ! Look how cunningly he hides 

His coward head, while all the middle coils 

And lengthened tail relax, as winding slow 

The last of him is seen. Who has not known 

That wicked serpent of Calabrian dales ? 

With lifted front his scaled head backward writhes 

And the long belly shows great spots and stains. 

When rivers from full fountain-heads flow down, 

While all the land is wet with showers of Spring 

And rains from southward blown, this serpent dwells 

In pools and oozy shores, where greedily 

With fishes and the ever-babbling frogs 

He crams his black maw. When the fen is dry 

And the hot soil cracks wide, then leaps he forth 



433-454] GEORGIC III 89 

Upon dry land, and with swift eyes of fire 
Runs fiercely o'er the pastures, wild with thirst, 
And of the heat in terror. Let me then 
Not slumber careless out of doors, nor dare 
On grass-grown woodland ridge to lie at ease, 
What time that creature casting his old skin 
Crawls out reclothed and glittering, having left 
The eggs or young ones in the hole. Oh, see 
That lifted head and quivering, cloven tongue ! 

Now of the signs and causes let me tell 

Of sickness and infection. A foul scab 

Attacks thy sheep, when downpours of cold rain 

Have chilled them to the bone, and winter fields 

Are rough with hoar-frost; or when sweat unclean 

Lies on them after shearing and their sides 

Are wounded with sharp thorns. 'Tis fearing this 

The shepherd lets the whole flock deeply bathe 

In rivers pure; the ram, plunged in the pool, 

With his drenched fleece is left to float down stream. 

Soon after shearing, for good ointment use 

The lees of olive oil, quicksilver mixing 

With native sulphur and the wholesome tar 

Of Ida's pines; wax also melted soft 

Juice of sea-onion, potent hellebore 

And black bitumen. But no remedy 

Brings happier issue to the shepherd's care 

Than with a sharp blade to lay open wide 

The ulcerous spot; for covered if it be 

The poison feeds and spreads the more, — even while 

The shepherd, failing of resolve, lays not 



90 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [455-475 

A healing hand upon the wound, but sits 

Inactive, asking heaven for luckier days. 

Moreover even when the pestilence 

Strikes the poor, bleating creature's every bone, 

His limbs with fever wasting, it works well 

To check the kindled fire, severing 

Close to the hoof-cleft some blood-spouting vein. 

This is the art the wild Bisaltae know, 

And fierce Gelonian when he wanders nigh 

The peak of Rhodope, or scours the plains 

Of lonely Danube, where his drink and food 

Is mixture of mare's blood with curds and whey. 

But if at distance thou shalt mark some sheep 

That creeps too often to the gentle shade, 

Listlessly cropping but the tallest grass, 

Lagging behind the flock, or as it feeds 

Low-crouching in mid-pasture, and at eve 

Faring home late alone, — then take thy knife 

And cut this blemish from thy folds away 

Before among th' unheeding multitude 

The dread contagion scatter. For wild winds 

That fly before the tempest far at sea 

Come not more thick and fast than speedy plagues 

Which visit herded beasts. The sickness falls 

Not here and there on few, but sweeps along 

Whole provinces of pleasant greenwood shade 

Effacing dams and sires and all the breed. 

This well he knows who e'er has looked upon 
Th' aerial Alps, where on the slopes are seen 
The Noric citadels and pastures wide 
Through which Timavus rolls. One even now 



476-497] GEORGIC III 91 

Beholds the shepherd kingdoms desolate 

Though many seasons since have passed; the vales, 

The spacious glades, lie all untenanted, 

For o'er this region in the days gone by 

A year of woe from heaven's corrupted air 

Descended. Through the autumn's pitiless heat 

It still burned on and showered death and bale 

On every kind of creature tame or wild. 

Even the lakes it poisoned, and infused 

Corruption on all forms of food. The way 

Of death was strange : when parching fire 

Through every vein had run and cramped with pain 

Each wretched limb, then back again would flow 

A copious humor which insidiously 

Corrupted the whole body. Oftentimes 

While solemn offerings to the gods were made, 

The chosen victim there, his forehead bound 

With snow-white woolen fillet, would drop down 

Death-stricken, while the aged ministrants 

Stared helpless. Or if haply a priest's knife v 

Had slain already, then the entrails laid ' < 

On altar flames burned not^the augur's art 

Could make no answer when the people sued. 

The sacrificial knife bore scarce a stain 

Of blood, and the light surface of the sand 

Was scarcely darkened by the sickly stream. 

Then all in flowery pasture-lands the beasts 

Lay dying, and at mangers full of corn 

Breathed their dear lives away; fierce madness fell 

On dogs of gentlest kind; a racking cough 

Attacked the swine and strangled their fat throats. 



92 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [498-519 

The horse that took the palm now has no care 

For any task or test; he crops no more 

The pastures green, and will no longer taste 

The flowing rill, but stamps upon the ground 

With restless foot; his ears lie limp and low, 

He sweats all over fitfully, that cold 

Sweat of a dying creature; or his skin 

Is parched, and if you stroke it, stiff and hard. 

These are the symptoms of the warning days 

Before the outbreak. But as more and more 

The plague has gathered power, both his eyes 

With fever glow, and all his laboring breath 

Is deeply drawn, sometimes with piteous groan 

And sobs that shake his sides; his nostrils flow 

With darkened blood, the rough tongue seems to cleave 

To the infected cavities. At first 

'Twas helpful to pour down a draught of wine 

From flowing horn, which seemed the one last hope 

To save the dying beast; but later on 

This remedy was death. With force renewed 

The fevers raged, and in death's agony 

Their own white teeth their flesh in sunder tore. 

May heaven from all the righteous turn away 

Such curse, and send it on their enemies! 

See the bull also ! 'neath the ploughshare's weight 
His sides steam, and he falls; his foamy lips 
Are dripping blood, and soon he groans his last. 
His master sad at heart takes off the yoke 
From mated steer that moans his brother's death, 
And in mid furrow leaves the useless plough. 



520-541] GEORGIC III 93 

Yet will the freed bull take no comfort now 

In shade of lofty grove or meadow green, 

Nor where, leaving its rockstrewn bed, the stream 

Clearer than amber meets the widening plain. 

For soon his flanks hang down, his heavy eyes 

Are darkened with down-drooping weariness, 

The neck hangs near the ground. Ah, what avail 

The creature's sober tasks and fruitful days, 

And heavy clods well broken by his plough ? 

What does it profit that he ne'er took harm 

From glutton banquets and luxurious wine ? 

He fared on leaves and grassy delicates 

By art unspoiled; his cups were bubbling springs 

And rivers swift of flow; no lurking care 

E'er troubled or destroyed his wholesome sleep. 

During that single year of plague, they say, 
All the kine failed for Juno's offering 
In that fair land, and to her lofty shrines 
Came chariots drawn by elks in ill-matched pairs. 
The people broke the soil with rakes, or dug 
With hands and nails to plant the needed corn, 
And o'er steep hills dragged up the creaking wain 
Straining their own necks to the heavy load. 
No wolf that year did thievishly explore 
The precincts of the fold, nor haunt by night 
Where the flock lies; a darker form of fear 
Had made him harmless. Even timid does 
And swift-foot stags now wandered without heed 
Among the dogs and close to cottage doors. 
Now even the offspring of the boundless sea 



94 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [542-562 

Each breed of things that swim, the rolling waves 

Cast forth upon the ocean's sandy bound 

Like shipwrecked dead; and unto haunts unknown 

Up flowing rivers drove great troops of seals. 

Defenceless in his labyrinthine den 

The viper died, and water-serpents foul, 

Their scales with terror bristling. Even the air 

Befriends the birds no more, but down they fall 

Leaving in some far cloud their vital breath. 

This sickness did not yield to change of food. 

The leeches' arts brought bane, and those most skilled 

Despaired and fled, — e'en Chiron, Saturn's son, 

And sage Melampus, Amythaon's heir. 

For now in wrath, from Stygian gloom sent forth, 

Arose pale-browed Tisiphone who drove 

A troop of plagues and sickening alarms 

Before her as she moved, and day by day 

Upreared to vaster height her hungry head. 

With bleatings of the sheep and bellowing cries 

The parching river banks and helpless hills 

Re-echoed loud. Her slaughter now she poured 

On multitudes together, and heaped up 

In stall and barn the sickly carcasses, 

That fell in foul decay, till wisdom learned 

To bury deep and to great pits consign. 

For no hides could be used; the inward parts 

No streams could cleanse nor any flame make pure. 

Nor could the fleece, plague-bitten and unclean 

Be shorn, for none upon the filthy wool 

Could lay a hand. If any one dared try 



56S-56Q1 GEORGIC III 95 

To wear th* infected garb, he straight was seized 
With burning rashes and his limbs exhaled 
An evil-smelling dew. But not for long 
He lingered in his pain: the fiery curse, 
Spread fast and all the tainted frame consumed. 



GEORGIC IV 

Of honey, wind-bred bounty of the sky, 
Next let me sing. And to the humble task 
Once more, Maecenas, lend a gracious ear! 
A pageant wonderful to thee I show, 
The story of a people light as air, 
Their large-souled leaders, and of all their kind 
The customs, occupations, kingdoms, wars. 
A task of narrow span, but no small praise, 
If unpropitious powers bar not my way, 
And favoring Phoebus grant a poet's prayer. 

First find the bees safe shelter and abode 
Where no winds enter, such as backward blow 
The honey-bearers from their homeward way; 
And where no sheep, no kids with frolic horn, 
Trample upon the flowers, nor roving calf 
Swish through the dewy grass and tread it down. 
Let not the scale-backed, painted lizard peer 
Too nigh the bees' full barns, nor thievish birds, 
Fly-catchers, or the swallow whose soft breast 
By her own murderous hands was dabbled o'er. 
For such make forage far and wide and bear 
In ruthless beak the insect harvesters 
As sweet, winged morsels to their nestlings wild. 
But flowing fountains near the hives should be, 
Still pools with fresh, green mosses bordered round, 



19-41] GEORGIC IV 97 

And through the grasses a small rill should run. 
Above their portals let a branching palm 
Or large wild olive its deep shadows throw, 
That when new-chosen chiefs lead forth in Spring 
The young swarm, and escaping from their cells 
The playful legion greets its native air, 
Then the cool bank may lure them to repose 
From the hot sun-beam, and the neighboring tree 
Its leafy hospitality extend. 

In the mid-stream, though slow or swift it run, 

Set willow boughs or large, smooth stepping-stones, 

To serve for bridges where th' alighting bee 

May dry his spread wings in the summer sun, 

If, ere he heeded, some impetuous breeze 

Have drenched or wrecked him in that little sea. 

Around the place let verdant cassias grow, 

With much strong-scented thyme, and let the stream 

Flow through sweet beds of thirsting violets. 

The hives themselves, if stitched of hollow bark 

Or plaited basket-work, should have but doors 

Of narrow compass, lest in winter's chill 

The honey thicken, or in sultry days 

Melt and ooze off: for bees make anxious toil 

'Gainst either trouble; with no aimless care 

They eagerly seal up all crevices, 

All air-holes in their walls, filling the cracks 

With flowery pollen; they collect and save 

Their thick glue for this work, which faster binds 

Than bird-lime or the pitch of Phrygian pines. 

Often they build a secret hearth and home 



98 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [42-64 

By burrowing in the earth, I hear men say; 
And hid in hollowed crags their nests are found, 
Or deep in cavernous bole of fallen tree. 
Thou likewise o'er the bee-hives' crannied sides 
Wilt smear warm clay, patting it down, and then 
Strew leaves on top. But let no yew-tree grow 
Where the bees haunt, nor burn red crabs near by, 
Nor let there be deep mud-holes or the stench 
Of filthy slough; nor let o'erarching rocks 
Be rife with echoes doubling every cry. 

Now further counsel. When the golden sun 

Bids the defeated winter sink away 

Under the earth, and quite unbars the sky 

To summer's burning glory, then the bees 

Roam over glade and grove, harvesting well 

The gorgeous flowers, and sip on lightsome wing 

The surface of the streams. From this time forth 

They fondly tend, with sweet, mysterious joy, 

The young brood in the nests, and skilfully 

Sculpture the wax and mould the honey-comb. 

At the same season, when the caravan 

Pours from the hives and skyward, starward, soars 

Along the glowing air, your eyes behold 

With wonder how the wind will gather them 

In one dark cloud. Then watch them where they move ! 

For always flowing springs and sheltering trees 

They seek for: then take heavy-scented herbs 

Bruised balsam and the wax-flower's humble weed, 

And sprinkle with their juice some chosen spot 

And clash loud cymbals like a Corybant. 



65-86] GEORGIC IV 99 

At this balm-breathing place the swarm will stay 
And rear, as is their wont, the future brood. 



But sometimes they declare a war: for oft 

Between two kings a fatal strife begins 

Tumultuous, and one discerns from far 

The anger of the mob, whose hearts leap up 

All fury for the fight. A loud alarm 

Like hoarse-tongued blare of martial brass 

Rebukes the lingerers. A wild cry is heard 

In semblance of the trumpet's billowy sound. 

Then comes the raging charge : their little wings 

Glitter, their stings are sharp as javelins. 

They grapple limb with limb, and round each chief, 

Each king's pavilion, there is tug of war, 

As with fierce war-cry each defies the foe. 

In such wise, when some rainless day in Spring 

Invites them to the open fields, they burst 

Impetuous from their portals, and the bees 

Join battle high in air; a mighty din 

Arises; they roll up confusedly 

In one great globe, then drop they headlong down; 

Not thicker is the fall of wind-blown hail 

Nor shower of acorns from storm-shaken tree. 

The chieftains in the midmost war are known 

By their far-shining wings and show abroad 

How vast a valor such small breasts contain; 

So stubbornly they hold their ground, until 

The mightier victor of this host or that 

Compels to panic flight his routed foe. 

Yet all this stir of passion and fierce fight, 



100 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [87-107 

If but a little dust be tossed in air, 

Will be subdued, dispersed, and die away. 

But when the two chief captains homeward come 
From conduct of the war, the vanquished one 
Must be condemned to die, lest he should waste 
The public substance. Let the victor take 
An undisputed throne. One now shines forth 
In golden necked attire; of race diverse 
The twain appear, one strong and flourishing, 
Of haughty looks and bright with crimson scales, 
The other in foul garb inglorious 
Drags slothfully his swollen bulk along. 
And like their kings their followers also prove 
Of differing kind : some foul and colorless 
As dust-cloud on a highway, such as chokes 
The thirsty traveller; but the others flash 
With glittering beams and wear a glow of fire, 
Their backs all blazoned with bright drops of gold. 
This is the nobler breed; from these when heaven 
Brings the due season round thou shalt obtain 
Sweet honey, and not only sweet but clear, — 
A mellowing mixture if the wine be strong. 

But when the swarm flits aimless through the air 
Heeds not its honied treasure, and would soar 
Free of the cool hives, in such idle play 
Thy art must govern their inconstant mind. 
The task is easy. Thou hast but to clip 
The leaders' wings; for when these lag below 
No common bee will soar aloft, nor dare 



108-129] GEORGIC IV 101 

Give marching orders to the bivouac. 

Then gardens with the breath of saffron flowers 

Tempt them to linger, where 'gainst birds and thieves 

With willow scythe the god of Hellespont, 

Priapus, is a faithful sentinel. 

Then the bee-keeper from the lofty hills 

Must fetch pine boughs and thyme leaves, scattering 

both 
All round the hives; and with his own strong hand 
Set out fine, healthy plants, and guide the flow 
Of friendly streams to bless his garden ground. 

But truly, if I were not reefing sail 

Nor ending now a long, laborious voyage, 

And were I less in haste to beach my keel, 

Perchance I could make venture of a song 

On gardens and the skill to make them bloom : — 

How Paestum's roses twice a year unfold, 

How endives flourish in a trickling rill, 

Parsley at brookside green, and rambling gourds 

Thrust forth their rounded bellies through the grass. 

Then would I of that tardy loiterer tell, 

Narcissus, of th' acanthus' nodding stem, 

Of ivies pale, and pathways bordered green 

With myrtle. 

For beneath Oebalia's towers 
Where dark Galaesus flows through golden corn, 
I once made friendship of an aged man 
From Corycus, who had a few poor roods 
Of worthless land. No pasturage was there 
For cattle nor for flocks convenient food, 



102 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [130-153 

Nor soil for vines. Yet he among its thorns 

Raised his small plot of greens and round them sowed 

A few white lilies, vervain's sacred leaf, 

With poppies of rare savor, while his soul 

Vied with the wealth of kings, when late at eve 

He heaped th' unpurchased banquet on his board. 

The rose of Spring and autumn's apples red 

He was the first to pluck. When winter's chill 

Still split the rocks with frost and laid cold curb 

Upon the frozen stream, already he 

Was toying with some soft-tressed hyacinth, 

Chiding slow summer and the laggard Spring. 

He was, be sure, the first whose brooding bees 

Were in full swarm; his fingers earliest 

Pressed forth the bubbling honey from the comb. 

Lime-trees he planted and luxuriant pines, 

And what his fruit trees in the blossoming Spring 

Of promise bore, not less rich autumn gave. 

His elm-tree saplings even when full-grown 

He could transplant, or pear-trees big and strong, 

Or the young plane-tree when its spreading boughs 

Screened from the sun the guest that drank his wine. 

Yet all these joys I lack full space to sing. 

Let later singers the sweet story tell. 

Come then, give ear, while I those gifts declare 
Which bees received of Jove, when for such boon 
They, following where the clash of cymbals called 
And that wild chant the Cretan priesthood sang, 
In Dicte's cave fed heaven's infant king. 
They are the only creatures to possess 



154-172] GEORGIC IV 103 

Offspring in common, and their city build 
Of undivided houses, where they live 
Obeying mighty laws, and they alone 
True fatherland and fixed abodes obtain. 
Warned of approaching winter, they employ 
Their summer's day in toil, and store their gains 
As common treasure. Certain chosen ones 
Forage for food and, so it is agreed, 
Keep busy in the fields while others pent 
Within the walls of houses, firmly mould 
The bottom of the comb; for which they use 
Narcissus' tear and gums from bark of trees, 
Then roof with clinging wax. Others lead forth 
Their infant brood in air, the tribe to be. 
Still others closely pack the honey-dew, 
Till every cell with nectared sweet runs o'er. 
For others 'tis th' apportioned task to stand 
Gate-sentinels, and keep alternate watch 
For auguries of rain and cloudy skies. 
These at the gates receive the little loads 
Of the home-comers, or lined up for war, 
Fight the dull drones and bar them from the hive. 
Eager the toil and swift. The honey-comb 
Breathes to the air sweet fragrance of wild thyme. 

It minds me of the Cyclops' wondrous task, 
When from the molten mass of yielding ore 
They forge their thunderbolts : a certain part 
Force bull's-hide bellows to puff back and forth 
The windy blasts; part temper in deep pool 
The hissing metal; with their anvil's weight 



104 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [173-192 

The floor of Aetna groans; their lifted arms 
With power gigantic strike the measured blows, 
And with huge pincers gripping on the steel 
They roll it round. With not less furious toil, 
If such small creatures may with large compare, 
The bees upon Hymettus' hill divine 
Rush to their labors, mightily compelled 
By inborn love of riches, each pursuing 
His separate task and gain. The oldest ones 
Take counsel for their city, raising walls 
About the honied treasure, or build up 
Ingenious dwellings; but the younger sort 
Come late at eve and weary, bringing home 
Thigh-loads of flowery food. They travel far 
Feeding on arbute or the silvery bloom 
Of willows, or on blushing crocuses, 
Or fruitful limes and deep-dyed hyacinth. 
But all together seek repose or toil 
At the same hours. When morning's ray appears 
They hurry from the gates, not one delays. 
But when the star of twilight lifts in heaven 
Its monitory beam, all homeward fly, 
Quitting the forage of the plain, to find 
Safe shelter and to ease their wearied limbs. 
Loud is the air when the returning swarm 
Hums round the hive; but later, when they lie 
Each in his chamber, then the silence falls 
And shadows of the night, while welcome sleep 
Possesses all. But if the opening morn 
Show dark and rainy skies, they fly not far 
From house and home, nor venture high in air 



193-212] GEORGIC IV 105 

If tempests threaten, but in safety rove 

Close to their city walls, and seek supply 

Of water, taking but a brief detour. 

Sometimes they lift small pebbles, as light boats 

Bear ballast through the waves; and weighted so, 

They keep their balanced flight through stormful air^ 

But veriest marvel of the ways of bees 
Is that their limbs mix not in love's embrace 
Nor weaken them by lust, nor ever bear 
Their young in pangs of travail; but from leaves 
Of fragrant herbs the mothers with their lips 
Breathe in their offspring, and all virginal 
Give birth to kings and tiny citizens, 
Repeopling so their waxen state and throne. 
Often they wound on flinty rocks their wings 
And faithful to their burdens bravely die. 
Such zeal they have for flowers, and in their life 
Of honey-gathering such sweet glory find. 

Thus though each single life has narrow bound, 
But seven summers, no more, the race of bees 
Lives on immortally. Age after age 
Their noble line is blest and counts its roll 
Of a long multitude of sires of sires. 
But to their kings the fealty they pay 
Not Egypt nor the Lydian monarchy 
Surpass, not Parthia nor the golden Mede 
Beside Hydaspes' wave. For when their king 
Securely stands, a common thought and soul 
Fills all the host; but if the chieftain fall 



106 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [213-234 

All loyal bonds are snapt, and their own rage 

Tears down the toil-built honey and destroys 

The waxen treasure-house. The king defends 

Their work, their wealth; while they his state surround 

With honor and applause, and at his side 

Attend him in loud-shouting, loyal throng. 

They lift him on their shoulders; or in war 

Fling their own bodies in his foeman's way, 

Seeking by many a wound a glorious death. 

These acts and powers observing, some declare 

That bees have portion in the mind of God 

And life from heaven derive; that God pervades 

All lands, the ocean's plain, th' abyss of heaven, 

And that from him flocks, cattle, princely men, 

All breeds of creatures wild, receive at birth 

Each his frail, vital breath; that whence they came 

All turn again, dissolving; so that death 

Is nowhere found, but vital essences 

Upsoaring in the vast, o'er-vaulted sky 

Move unextinguished through the starry throng. 

If e'er thou wouldst from its small shelf unseal 
The honied store, first having purified 
Thy lips and breath, with water sprinkle well 
And waft the wreathing smoke with wave of hand. 
Twice in the year the teeming brood is born, 
Two harvests have they : when the Pleiad star 
Spurns with her winged feet the ocean's rim, 
And when in flight before the stormful sign 
Of the great Fish, on journey dark and drear 



235-256] GEORGIC IV 107 

She sinks from heaven beneath the wintry wave. 
This is the season when the wrath of bees 
Breaks bound, and if one harm them, they infuse 
A venom in each sting and in thy veins 
Implant a hidden barb, leaving behind 
Their own lives in the little wounds they give. 
If a hard winter bodes, and thy fond care 
Forecasts their future, pitying what would be 
Thy spirit-broken swarm's distressful state, 
Fear not to smoke them out with odorous thyme 
And cut the empty combs. Haply some newt 
Has bored the wax unseen, or in the cells 
The sunbeam-fearing beetles throng, or they 
Who sit at unearned feasts, the shirking drones. 
Or some rude hornet with his mightier sting 
Has forced his way, or moth of dreadful breed, 
Or spider, by Minerva curst, has hung 
Her swinging webs at entrance of the hives. 
The more the bees feel poverty, the more 
They turn to eager labors and retrieve 
A fallen people's fortune, heaping high 
Their crowded marts and flowery granaries. 

But if it chance, because the life of bees 

Has the same ills as ours, that their small frames 

Languish in pestilence, these certain signs 

Will tell thee of their plight: the stricken ones 

Keep changing color and their visages 

Are hideously wasted; then the tribe 

Bears slowly from its house the lifeless forms 

With mournful pomp of death; or clinging close 



108 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [257-280 

With interwoven feet they swing aloft 

Above their threshold, or with portals barred 

Linger within the walls, all spiritless 

With hunger and benumbed with shrivelling cold. 

Then sounds a deeper voice, a booming note 

Ever increasing, as when north winds roar 

In wintry woods, or when a roughened sea 

Flows moaning from the shore, or when swift fires 

Leap, loud and strong behind shut furnace doors. 

Burn at such time the sweet-breathed galbanum. 

Carry them honey poured in pipes of reed 

Tempting them thus to feed and calling them 

To the familiar feast. 'Tis also well 

To flavor it with sap of powdered galls 

And rose-leaves dried, or freshly trodden must 

Warmed at a fire, or raisin-clusters plucked 

From some choice vineyard; also leaves of thyme, 

The Attic sort, and that strong-scented stem 

The Centaurs knew. Then there's a useful flower 

Growing in meadows, which the country folk 

Call star-wort, not a blossom hard to find, 

For its large cluster lifts itself in air 

Out of one root; its central orb is gold 

But it wears petals in a numerous ring 

Of glossy purplish blue; 'tis often laid 

In twisted garlands at some holy shrine. 

Bitter its taste; the shepherds gather it 

In valley-pastures where the winding streams 

Of Mella flow. The roots of this steeped well 

In hot, high-flavored wine, thou may'st set down 

At the hive door in baskets heaping full. 



281-303] GEORGIC IV 109 

But if thy whole swarm at a stroke should fail 

With no stock left for breeding, let my song 

Tell now a memorable art derived 

From an Arcadian king, and show what way 

When bulls are slaughtered oftentimes their blood 

Out of corruption generates the bee. . 

From ancient lore I will the tale unfold. 

For where Canopus' favored citizens 

Beneath the Macedonian's golden sway 

By the full, lingering waters of the Nile, 

Sail o'er their farms in painted skiffs (though oft 

The Persian bowmen vex the borderland) 

And where in seven floods the rushing stream 

Divides, and feeds the green Egyptian field 

With that rich earth the river downward draws 

From where the dark-skinned Aethiopians roam — 

Throughout that famous land their opulent ease 

Depends upon this art. 

First they choose out 
Some place of narrow bounds, and roofing o'er 
With tiles, building around it straitened walls, 
They cut four windows open to four winds, 
But not square to the sun. Then from the herd 
They take a steer, a two-year-old, whose horns 
Just curl upon his brows; his nostrils twain 
And breathing mouth, though stoutly he resist, 
They seal fast; then with rain of many blows 
They beat his life out, crushing every part 
Except th' unbroken hide. The body then 
Is laid in the enclosure; under it 
They scatter boughs, the fragrant leaves of thyme 



110 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [304-325 

And cassia freshly pulled. This must be done 
When first the Spring winds set the waters free, 
Before the meadows blush with early flowers 
Or ere the chattering swallow hangs her nest 
Under the roof-tree beam. Soon waxing warm 
The moisture rises in the softened bones, 
And living creatures, wonderful to see, 
Come forth, at first all footless, but erelong 
With whir of wings the restless multitude 
In swelling numbers on the liquid air, 
Bursts swift away; like some full, pouring shower 
From summer cloud, or like the arrowy rain 
From a loud, quivering bowstring skyward flung, 
When Parthia's light-foot host invites the war. 

What god, O Muses, labored to devise 

This art for us, or how did human skill 

Unto such novel venture find a way ? 

The shepherd Aristeaus climbing forth 

From Tempe's vale and river, having lost, 

So runs the tale, his swarms of bees, and vexed 

With fever and with famine, stood all tears 

Hard by the sacred source of Peneus' wave, 

And making loud complaint and bitter cry, 

Called thus: " Cyrene, mother mine, whose home 

Is deep below this stream, why bor'st thou me 

Of famous, heavenly line (if I may claim 

Apollo, lord of Thymbra, for my sire, 

As thou hast said) yet gav'st me birth 

To be of fate the scorn ? Where hast thou flung 

Thy love of me away ? Why bid aspire 

To heaven and godhead ? Look, my life as man 



326-348] GEORGIC IV 111 

Has lost its pride and crown, its busy care 

Of field and flock, with many a patient proof, 

So painfully achieved. And yet thou wert 

My mother ! Therefore come ! Let thine own hand 

Spoil and uproot my fruitful orchards fair, 

Hurl fire on my folds, my harvest blight, 

Burn up my seedlings and with ruthless axe 

My vineyards hew away ! — if verily 

Such scorn thou hast of all that brings me praise. " 

Now from her chamber deep below the wave 

His mother heard his voice. Her nymphs hard by 

Sat in a circle spinning from their looms 

Rare fleeces dipped in hues of hyaline : 

Ligea, Xantho, with Phyllodoce 

And Drymo, o'er whose snowy necks flowed down 

Their gleaming hair, Cydippe and gold-tressed 

Lycorias, the one a virgin free. 

The other to the labors lately come 

Of motherhood; there were the sisters twain 

Clio and Beroe, ocean's daughters both, 

In golden zone and gorgeous mantles clad; 

Deiopea, Opis, Ephyre 

And fleet-foot Arethusa, who at last 

Had laid her arrows by. This sea-nymph throng 

Was listening to the tales of Clymene : 

Of Vulcan's fruitless caution and the guile 

Of amorous Mars that gained him stolen joy; 

And of unnumbered loves of gods she told, 

Since first the world began. So while their hands 

Twirled from the spindles the soft threads of wool, 

They heard th' enchanting burden of her song. 



112 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [349-370 

But once again upon his mother's ear 

Smote Aristaeus' cry, and those sea-nymphs 

Listened amazed upon their crystal thrones. 

Then Arethusa, ere her sisters spoke, 

Uplifting from the wave her golden brow, 

Thus called from far: " Cyrene, sister mine, 

Hear not in vain that terrifying cry. 

Behold thy darling and thy chiefest care, 

Unhappy Aristaeus, stands in tears 

On brink of Peneus' wave, and on thy name 

Calls loud to tell thee of thy cruelty." 

Once more the mother with unwonted fear 

Trembled at heart: " Oh, hither where we dwell 

Show him his way," she said, " Grant him the boon 

To cross yon threshold of divine abodes." 

Straightway she gave command that far and wide 

The opening river floods should yield free path 

To the young shepherd's feet. And lo ! the waves 

Rose like a hilltop round him and received 

In vast embrace, letting the hero pass 

Deep down below the river. Now his eyes 

Gazed wondering on his goddess-mother's realm. 

He passed through watery kingdoms, by dark lakes 

All cavern-girdled, by loud-roaring groves. 

Then by the noise of mighty floods struck dumb 

He saw vast rivers flowing under earth 

Each in its region due. The Phasis there 

And Lycus he could see, and that first well 

Whence breaks to birth Enipeus' stream profound. 

There Father Tiber rose, and Anio's 

Swift current, rock-bound, echoing Hypanis, 



371-392] GEORGIC IV 113 

Caicus, Mysia's stream; there golden-horned, 
His countenance a bull, Eridanus 
That with more fury than all floods beside 
Sweeps through rich farms to meet the purple sea. 

Soon came the youth beneath the pendent stone 

That roofed his mother's halls. Cyrene saw 

Her son's unfruitful tears. Her sisters brought, 

In order due, ablution for his hands 

And napkins of shorn fringe; they piled the board 

With feasting and with wine-cups oft refilled. 

The sacred altars blazed with fragrant fires. 

The mother cried: " Bring forth a brimming bowl 

Of Lydian vintage. We make offering 

Unto the ocean's god." Wherewith she prayed 

To ocean the great parent, and the nymphs : 

A hundred haunt the groves, a hundred guard 

The rivers, and they are her sisters all. 

Three times on Vesta's burning hearth she poured 

A stream of wine, three times the vanquished fire 

Leaped sparkling to the roof-tree in fresh flame. 

The happy omen cheered her fearful mind 

And thus she spoke: 

"In far Carpathian main 
The sea-green Proteus dwells, a prophet-bard. 
Whose dolphin chariot skims the mighty deep 
With yoke of two-foot horses. At this hour 
Back to his own Emathian shores he hies, 
His fatherland Pallene. We sea-nymphs 
And gray-beard Nereus greatly worship him. 
For he, prophetic soul, has vision clear 



114 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [393-416 

Of all that is and was and soon will be. 

The power is Neptune's gift, at whose command 

He, under rolling tides, the shepherd is 

Of monster flocks and of foul-featured seals. 

"lis he, my son, whom thou must bind with cords 

Then will he show what brought thy plagues to pass 

And grant escape. No precept will he give 

Save on compulsion; thou canst not persuade 

By prayers. Take him by violence and bind 

Strong fetters round his limbs, until at last 

Thou shalt dissolve his vain, deceiving spells. 

Myself at noon's full blaze, when all the fields 

Are thirsting and the flocks in shadows lie, 

Will lead thee where this aged prophet hides 

When weary of the sea. Thou, while he sleeps, 

Seize on him with firm hand and fetters strong. 

His changeful shapes will mock thee; he will wear 

The forms of many a beast: he will appear 

A bristling boar, a tiger grim, a snake 

Of scaly coils, a red-necked lioness; 

Or he will seem a sound of crackling fire 

And through thy fetters leap, or suddenly 

Drop like fast-flowing water from thy grasp. 

But thou the more he shifts, the more he flies 

From form to form, bind thou the cords, my son, 

Yet tighter, till at last thine eyes behold 

The self -same shape his changeful body wore 

When with closed eyes he first lay down and slept." 

She spoke: and round her breathed the fragrant air 

Of her immortal nature, which did flow 

Over her son's whole body, from his head 



417-436] GEORGIC IV 115 

His ordered tresses shed an effluence 
Divinely sweet, and through his manly limbs 
New vigor flowed. 

A cavern vast 
Lies in a certain mountain's hollowed side, 
Where driven by the winds the swollen waves 
Draw back divided, and where many a time 
The storm-caught mariners safe shelter find. 
Deep in its gloom behind a barrier stone 
Lay Proteus. There the sea-nymph set her son 
In shadowy ambush far from light of day, 
But she herself, all mantled in a cloud, 
Watched at a distance. 'Twas the season when 
The fierce Dog Star that burns the fevered Ind 
Flamed in the sky, and half the orb of heaven 
The fiery sun had passed. The pastures green 
Were withered, the dry -throated rivers ran 
Emptied, and their warm beds of oozy clay 
Lay parching in the sunshine. Proteus then 
Out of the billowy seas had sought repose 
Within his wonted cavern. Round him ranged 
The watery tribes that habit the great sea, 
In frolic shaking off the bitter brine 
Like showers of dew; far-scattered on the shore 
Were stretched the sleeping seals. The god himself 
Seemed like the herdsman in the hills, what time 
The evening star leads back from field to fold 
His cattle and his flock; his bleating lambs 
Tempt the far-listening wolves — he takes his place 
On some tall stone and counts them as they pass. 



116 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [437-460 

Now Aristaeus, his occasion come, 

Soon as the old man's weary limbs took rest, 

Rushed in upon him with a mighty cry 

And bound him as he lay. The struggling god 

Forgot not his own arts, and changed himself 

Into all wondrous things : to flames of fire, 

To frightful monsters and swift-passing streams. 

But when for all his guile he could not flee, 

Yielding, he took his own true shape, and spake 

From human lips this answer: " At whose word, 

Com'st thou my dwelling nigh, presumptuous boy ? 

What wouldst thou have ? " The other answered him: 

" Thou knowest, Proteus, knowest all untold. 

What scapes thy knowledge ? Prithee now give o'er! 

By word divine I come, and ask of thee 

Some oracle to help my desperate need." 

He ceased. At last the prophet overborne 

By much constraint, rolled wide his blazing eyes 

And glances dark, gnashed terribly his teeth 

And from his lips the words of fate set free. 

" None less than wrathful god pursues thee thus. 

For dire offences is thy suffering paid. 

'Tis Orpheus, woe-begone, but guiltless all, 

Sends thee his vengeance until fate oppose; 

For mighty is his anger evermore 

Robbed of his wife. It was thy chase she fled 

Swift through the stream, but saw not in her path 

The huge snake hiding on the deep-grassed shore, — 

Doomed girl ! The forest-nymphs, her lovely peers, 

To the high hilltops sent their wailing cry; 



461-484] GEORGIC IV 117 

The peaks of Rhodope lamented loud, 
Lofty Pangaea, and the land of Thrace 
Beloved of Mars; swift Hebrus flowed in tears 
And Orithya wept. But he, the bard 
Soothed his love-anguish on the concave shell, 
Singing of thee, sweet wife, and wandering lone 
Upon a desolate shore. Of thee he sang 
When morning rose and with departing day. 
He entered also at the doors of hell, 
At Pluto's vast abode, that clouded grove 
Black with eternal horror. He drew near 
Those fleshless ghosts and Hades' grisly king, 
Whose hearts at human prayers no motion feel. 
Yet at his song, from deepest Erebus 
The lifeless phantoms and thin shadows came, 
Loving and pitiful; like flocks they seemed 
Of birds that hide in leafy boughs, when night 
Or wintry tempest drives them from the hills. 
Mothers and husbands came, with lifeless forms 
Of high-souled heroes, boys, unwedded maids, 
And youthful manhood given to the tomb 
Before fond parents' eyes. Around them flowed 
Cocytus, dark with slime and loathly weed. 
An odious fen is there, a dull, dark pool, 
And Styx, nine times infolded hems them round. 
Yet even the inmost house of death and hell 
Listened in wonder, and th' Eumenides 
With serpent-wreathed hair. Fell Cerberus 
Held his three mouths agape. The windy wheel 
That tortures lost Ixion ceased to roll. 



118 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [485-504 

Now homeward turning, Orpheus had escaped 

These perils manifold; Eurydice, 

His own once more, was climbing back to life, 

But following far behind her spouse, for so 

Proserpina had said. But, ere he knew, 

A sudden madness seized the lover's mind — 

A fault to be forgiven, could hell forgive. 

For when the first clear sunbeam smote her brow, 

He, heedless, ah ! and his resolves undone, 

Paused, looking backward on Eurydice. 

Then all his work was nothing, for the law 

Of death's grim king was broken. Then three times 

Loud thunders o'er Avernus' waters rolled. 

* Orpheus,' she cried, * what madness this, that slays 
My wretched self and thee ? Oh, once again 
They call me back, the unrelenting powers. 
Sleep falls upon my fading sight. Farewell! 
Deep night is round me and I drift away, 
No longer thine, alas ! but lifting thee 
My helpless hands.' 

She spake and suddenly 
Sank from his sight, like cloudy smoke that fades 
And flies away mingling with viewless air. 
He stood, a shadow grasping, and would fain 
Speak to her o'er and o'er; but after this 
She saw him not. The Stygian boatman gave 
No second passage o'er his barrier stream. 

What could he more attempt, or whither flee, 
Of such a bride twice robbed ? What bitter cry 



505-527] GEORGIC IV 119 

Can reach the realm of death, or mournful voice 

Move the infernal powers ? What was she now 

But shadow cold, on Stygian shallop borne ? 

So he, while seven whole months went by, they say, 

Beneath the windy crags and by the shores 

Of solitary Strymon weeping strayed, 

To caverns cold his sorrows numbering o'er 

In music that made tigers tame and lured 

The rugged oaks to follow. 

Even so 
In poplar shades the mournful nightingale 
Her stolen brood bewails, which cruel hands 
Have found, and pulled all naked from her nest. 
The livelong night she cries, and on one bough 
Renews the doleful story, far and wide 
Filling the forest with complaint and woe. 

His heart could love no more; no spousals new 

His purpose changed. In solitude he roved 

Far north through frozen fields and Scythian snows, 

O'er mountain steeps that wear perpetual cold, 

Lamenting loud his lost Eurydice 

And Pluto's favors vain. His faithful grief 

Angered those Thracian maids whose kiss he scorned, 

As madly through Cithaeron's echoing vales 

Their bacchanalian, midnight revel sped. 

When they had torn the lover limb from limb 

And hurled him piecemeal o'er the fields, even then 

As Hebrus' rolling current swept along 

His head, from white neck rent away, its voice, 

Its death-cold tongue, cried forth ' Eurydice ! ' 



120 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [528-547 

The parting breath sighed * Poor Eury dice ! ' 
* Eury dice! ' the sounding shores replied." 

Thus Proteus' tale had end; and with a leap 
He plunged him in the sea and where he plunged 
Tossed up the wave-crest into whirling foam. 
Not so Cyrene, she before he asked, 
Unto her trembling son this counsel gave : 
" Now may thy heart, dear son, put by its pain. 
The plague had this one cause: it was the nymphs 
With whom in lofty groves she tripped along, 
That sent thy swarms of bees such hapless end. 
Go offer gifts. Uplift the suppliant hand 
And pray the gentle wood-nymphs to forgive. 
Soon will they pardon and thine offering heed, 
Letting their anger die. But in what form 
To make petition, I will first unroll. 
Four noble bulls surpassing large and strong 
Who now are pastured on the uplands green 
Of this Lycaean hill, these shalt thou choose; 
And with them take as many heifers fair 
Whose necks no yoke has touched. Build then 
Four altars at the wood-nymphs' favored shrine 
And let the sacred streams of blood run down 
From throats of victims slain; but leave behind 
Their lifeless bodies in the leafy grove. 
When after these things the ninth morn is come, 
Pay funeral sacrifice in Orpheus' name 
And with oblivion's poppies garland o'er, 
Slaying a black-fleeced sheep. Then to the grove 
Return, and to th' appeased Eurydice 
Make thankful offering of a heifer slain." 



548-566] GEORGIC IV 121 

No tarrying now ! But straightway he fulfilled 
His mother's words. He sought the favored shrine 
And raised the wood-nymphs the four altars due. 
Four noble bulls surpassing large and strong, 
Four unyoked heifers brought he; afterward 
When the ninth morn had risen, then he paid 
The sacrifice to Orpheus, and retraced 
His footsteps to the grove. There suddenly 
Men saw a wonder passing strange : the sides 
Of the slain cattle, now turned soft, buzzed loud 
With swarming bees; the belly and the ribs 
Were teeming; and the bees in formless clouds 
Streamed upward to a tree-top, and hung down 
In pointed cluster from the swinging bough. 

Thus have I made my songs of well-kept farms, 

Of flocks withal and trees, while Caesar's power 

Was launching the vast thunder of his war 

Over the deep Euphrates, publishing 

By conquest his supreme and just decrees 

Unto the grateful nations, taking so 

His pathway to the gods. The selfsame days 

I, Virgil, passed in sweet Parthenope, 

Busied and blest in unrenowned repose, 

I that erewhile, when youthful blood was bold 

Played with the shepherd's muse, and made my song 

Of Tityrus beneath the beech- tree's shade. 



THE ECLOGUES 



ECLOGUE I 

Meliboeus, Tityrus 

M. In the wide-branching beech-trees' shade reclined 
Thou, Tityrus, playst on thy slender reed 
A shepherd song. I from my fatherland, 
My fatherland and pastures ever dear, 
To exile fly, while Tityrus at ease 
In cooling shadows bids the woodland sing 
Of lovely Amaryllis. 

T. 'Twas a god, 

O Meliboeus, gave these idle hours, 
One of my gods forever. A young lamb, 
From my full folds a thankful offering, 
Shall oft his altar stain. For it was he 
Gave yonder herds their leave to roam so far, 
And me to play whatever song I will 
On sylvan pipes the happy, livelong day. 

M. I feel no envy, yet my wonder wakes; 
For in this region, lo, from end to end 
There's trouble stirring. See me sick at heart 
Prodding my she-goats on. Look Tityrus, 
This one I scarce can move. A few hours gone, 
Nigh yonder hazel coppices, she dropped 
Two kids, the promise of my flock, and then 
Having borne, left them on the stony ground. 
Oh! more than once, — but my poor wits were blind 
The heaven-blasted oak this loss foretold, 

125 



126 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [18-39 

And boding raven shrieked from hollow tree. 
But, Tityrus, who is this god of thine ? 

T. That city, Meliboeus, men call Rome 
I, silly shepherd, pictured should appear 
Like yonder little walls and towers, whereto 
We drive so oft our tender weanlings down. 
For pups are like the bitch, and kids, I knew, 
Are moulded like their dam; so what is small 
I would with large compare. But of a truth 
That city lifts above all else her crown 
Far as the cypress o'er the hedge-row thorn. 

M. What urgent errand gave thee sight of Rome ? 

T. My freedom. For a late-won freedom smiled 
On slack and slothful me, though in that year 
I saw my clipped-off beard fall silver gray. 
Yet smile she did, and my long hopes fulfilled, 
When Amaryllis reigned and I was quit 
Of Galatea. For I now confess 
That Galatea's lover had no dream 
Of freedom, nor a thought for thrift and gain. 
Although sleek cattle of my folds were sold 
For sacrifice, and from my presses cheese, 
Cheese of the best, went to the thankless town, 
Still I came always empty-handed home. 

M. Oft would I wonder on what powers divine 
Fair Amaryllis so forlornly called, 
And for what lover her ripe apples hung 
Ungathered on the tree. Our Tityrus 
Was far away, and yonder groves of pine, 
The flowing fountains and the orchards green 
Sighed after Tityrus. 



40-64] ECLOGUE I 127 

T. What else to do ? 

No laws were here to loose my servile chain, 
Nor save in Rome could favoring gods be found. 
There, Meliboeus, there these eyes beheld 
His youthful brow for whom with annual prayer 
Twelve days my altars send their smoke to heaven. 
For thus his mildness to my lowly plea 
Made answer: " Shepherds, as in days of old, 
Go feed your flock and breed the herd unharmed." 

M. Happy old man, thy lands are still thine own 
Enough for all thy need. Though still I see 
Hillsides washed bare, and fertile pasture land 
Run to rank swamp and reeds, yet strange new grass 
Tempts not thy teeming ewes, nor will they breathe 
From some near-feeding flock the fatal plague. 
Happy old man! by these familiar streams, 
These haunted springs, enjoy thy cooling shade! 
Here as of old thy neighbor's hedge-row line, 
Where Hybla's bees o'er flowering willows rove, 
Shall with a light-voiced whisper woo thy sleep. 
On yonder rocky slope with far-flung song 
Thy bondman trims the vine; wood-pigeons wild 
Thy darlings, ne'er shall silence their dull cry, 
Nor from the wind-swept elms the doves their moan. 

T. The light-limbed stag shall pasture in the skies, 
The seas run dry and every fish lie bare; 
Exchanging lands the Parthian shall drink 
Of Aar, Germans of Tigris, ere this heart 
Shall lose the vision of that sovereign brow. 

M. Yet must we homeless ones arise and fly 
To parching Afric or the Scythian cold, 



128 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [65-83 

To Crete and swift Oaxes' tumbling stream, 
Or Britain's people sundered from the world. 
Oh ! shall I ever after seasons gone 
See my own country more, my cabin rude 
With high-peaked roof of turf ? Or if I see 
Hereafter realms once mine, must I be shocked 
At scanty blades of corn ? And will there be 
Some godless soldier on my well-tilled farm, 
Some grim barbarian, gathering its yield ? 
Oh, to what woes has civil discord led 
Our wretched countrymen ! For whom to reap 
Were these fair acres sown ? What profit now 
My grafted pear-trees and my trellised vine ? 
Move on, dear flock, whose happy days are done ! 
My mother-goats, move on! No more shall I 
Reclined in cool, green cave behold from far 
How on the bush-grown crag you cling and climb. 
No shepherd-songs for me ! I shall not lead 
My feeding mother-goats to get their fill 
Of clover-buds or willow's bitter stem. 
T. Yet enter here and take tonight thy rest, 
Sound-sleeping on my pallet of fresh green. 
Ripe chestnuts are within, full mellowed fruits 
And curds in plenty. Look ! The smoke ascends 
From each thatched roof-top in the lowland vale, 
And widening shadows from the mountains fall. 



ECLOGUE II 

Alexis 

The shepherd Corydon with ardent sigh 

Sued fair Alexis, favorite of his lord, 

But ne'er his hopes obtained. He could but roam 

Day after day where many beech trees wave 

Their shadowing crests, and lonely and forlorn 

There flung abroad on listening hills and groves 

His fruitless passion in this random song: 

Cruel Alexis, deaf to what I sing, 
Hast thou no pity on me ? Thou wilt be 
My death at last. Now at the noon-tide hour 
My flocks take shelter in the cooling shade, 
Now the green lizards hide in hedge-row thorn; 
For reapers wearied by the sultry sun 
Good Thestylis now mixes savory store 
Of garlic, thyme and leaves of fragrant rue; 
But where I seek my love, the copses dry 
Fill all the burning air with insect-songs. 

Were it not better to have borne the scorn 
Of haughty Amaryllis and the tears 
Her anger knew, or met Menalcas' frown, 
Though swarthy he, as thou art white and fair ? 
O lovely youth, trust not the outward show 
Too far! White hawthorn fades, when hyacinths 
Are woven in dark garlands. Thy proud looks 

129 



130 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [19-40 

Despise me, and of my estate and name 
Seek not to know — how rich in herds I be, 
What flowing milk I get, and how I own 
Wide-pastured o'er the slopes of Sicily 
A thousand ewes; their sweet, fresh milk is mine 
In parching summer and the wintry cold. 
I can sing also: with a song like mine 
Loud-voiced Amphion on Boeotia's plain 
Gathered his herd from far-off Aracynth. 
Nor think me quite uncomely ! By the shore 
Where the sea lay untroubled by the breeze, 
I saw my mirrored shape one day; nor fear, 
Even in thine eyes, to rival Daphnis' mould, 
If such a glass be true. 

Oh, that thy heart 
Were willing to abide in lowly thatch 
Upon a poor man's simple farm, piercing with shafts 
The antlered stag, or driving kids along 
With a green mallow wand, while taught of me 
Thy wood-notes should repeat the songs of Pan ! 
For how to knit with wax the numbered reeds 
'Twas Pan first showed us, Pan whose faithful care 
Is over sheep and shepherd. Scorn not then 
To press thy soft lip to a sylvan reed. 
Amyntas sued to learn these stops in vain. 
My pipe is made of seven jointed stems 
Of hemlock! 'Twas Damoetas gave it me; 
He whispered as he died, "It now is thine, 
" And thou, its second master." So Damoetas. 
Stupid Amyntas heard with envious heart. 
Then too I have a pair of roe-bucks here, 



41-61] ECLOGUE II 131 

Once rescued from a perilous ravine, 

Still dappled white; they're suckled twice a day; 

Freely I offer these, though Thestylis 

Begs often she may have them for her own. 

And soon she shall, if in thy haughty eyes 

My gifts be scorned. 

Come hither, loveliest boy ! 
The wood-nymphs bear thee lilies heaping high 
In osier baskets; and a naiad white 
Plucking pale violets and poppies tall, 
Wreaths, scented fennel with narcissus bloom, 
And lavender with all sweet herbs she binds, 
And bids sad- vestured hyacinth look gay 
Mated with sprays of saffron marigold. 
I'll pluck thee apricots of velvet skin, 
And chestnuts such as Amaryllis loved, 
And waxen plums to top my basket well — 
An honored fruit. And O ye laurels green, 
Ye myrtles set near by, I cull ye both, 
That thus your mingled breaths may sweeter be ! 

Ah, Cory don, poor clown ! Alexis laughs 

At gifts of thine; and if by gifts we woo, 

Iollas will outvie me. Woe is me! 

What curses have I drawn upon this head ? 

I bade the northwind o'er my garden blow, 

And let the wild boar foul my crystal spring. 

Whom dost thou scorn, mad boy ! The gods themselves 

Have dwelt in woodland shades, and there did roam 

Paris, the prince of Troy. Though Pallas bless 

The towered citadels herself did build, 



132 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [62-73 

Dearer than they to us our woods and wilds. 

The bloody lioness a wolf pursues; the wolf, a goat; 

The frisking goat runs where fresh clover blooms; 

So, O Alexis, Corydon seeks thee. 

Its sweetest pleasure leads each creature on. 

Ah see ! The oxen drag the ploughshare home 
Point upward toward the yoke. The setting sun, 
Doubles the lengthening shadows. But yet still, 
Still in my heart love not less fiercely burns. 
What ending has love's day ? Ah, Corydon, 
What madness has deluded Corydon ? 
O'er yonder elms thy grape-vine runs untrimmed. 
Busy thyself with what thy needs require, 
Weaving a basket of soft twigs and straw; 
And if Alexis frown, turn thou elsewhere! 



ECLOGUE III 

Menalcas, Damoetas, Palaemon 

M. Whose is the flock, Damoetas ? Meliboeus' ? 

D. No, Aegon's. He has put it in my charge. 

M. O luckless flock ! For while their owner wooes 
Neaera, fearing she may love me best, 
This hireling fellow twice an hour milks off 
The ewes; the flock is lean; the lambs go dry. 

D. A little less abuse of grown men, please! 

We know who 'twas when the goats peered around, 
And where the covert when the light nymphs laughed. 

M. The very day, no doubt, when I was seen 
In Micon's garden slashing the young vines 
With wicked knife. 

D. Or when in beechen grove 

Thou brok'st in pieces Daphnis' pipes and bow, 
Because to fairer youth thou knewst them given, 
And rather wouldst have died than missed that wrong. 

M. What can a master do 'gainst such bold thieves ? 
Did I not see thee setting traps to snare, 
Rascal! that goat of Damon's, while his hound 
Barked clamorous and long ? But when I cried, 
" Call the flock home, my Tityrus! What trick 
" Is that thief playing ?" thou didst cringe and cower 
Down in the sedge. 

D. I vanquished him in song. 

Should he not pay me what my piping won ? 



134 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [23-46 

That goat ? Whate'er you say, the goat was mine. 
Damon himself confessed it, but declared 
He could not let him go. 

M. Thou vanquish him 

In rival song ? When were the waxbound pipes 
Ever thine own, thou dabster, who dost play 
At common cross-roads to the gaping clowns, 
On squeaky fife thy despicable strain ? 

D. Darest thou match me ? Thou and I to prove 
Each his own music in responsive song ? 
I stake this heifer. Think her no small prize. 
She yields milk twice a day and twice gives suck. 
I '11 risk her. What's thy stake to strive with me ? 

M. I may not from the flock my wager choose. 
At home my father and his niggard wife 
Count the sheep twice each day, and he, the goats. 
But something better, as thyself wilt own, 
Shall be my gage — if this mad match thou darest — 
Two cups of beechwood, which with heavenly skill 
Alcimedon once carved. About each cup 
The cunning tool has shaped a slender vine 
With wandering clusters of pale ivy wound, 
And in the midst two figures, Conon's one, 
And his — who was it ? — that with studious wand 
Pictured the vault of heaven for all mankind, 
Showing both seed-time and the reaper's star. 
My lips have touched them not; they lie in store. 

D. Alcimedon shaped me two cups as well, 

The handles looped with soft acanthus leaves. 
Lo, Orpheus in the midst holds forth his lyre; 
Th' obedient forests follow where he sings. 



47-69] ECLOGUE III 135 

My lips have touched them not; they lie in store. 

But 'gainst my heifer, cups be paltry things. 
M. Thou 'It not escape today! I '11 match with thee 

On any terms thou wilt. And for a judge, 

Look, here's Palaemon coming! What I do, 

Will cool, I think, thy itch for challenging. 
D. Come if there's matter in thee; for delay 

Is not my habit. There's no living man 

I fear to match with. But 'tis serious work. 

Neighbor Palaemon, lend us all thine ear! 
P. Sing on! How soft this seat of grassy green! 

Now meadow-land and orchard break in bloom; 

In leaf, the wood; and now the fleeting year 

Is at its loveliest. Damoetas, sing! 

And thou, Menalcas, answer, and then he ! 

The Sacred Nine delight in answering songs. 

D. From Jove the Muses sprang; the whole wide world 
Is full of Jove; he blesses field and farm 
And all my music has his favoring care. 

M. Me Phoebus loves; and in my garden grow 
The gifts by Phoebus chosen, laurels proud, 
And blushing hyacinths of sweetest breath. 

D. My gamesome Galatea pelteth me 

W 7 ith a red apple; then she hides away 

In silvery willows, beckoning where she hides. 

M. But sweet Amyntas, passion of my soul, 

Runs to my arms unasked. Not Delia's step 
Is to my watchful dog oftener known. 

D. For my fair girl a gift ! I know a place 

WTiere on a lofty bough wood-pigeons breed. 



136 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [70-93 

M. Ten golden apples from a wilding tree 

I sent my love; ten more tomorrow go. 
D. How oft-repeated are the whispered vows 

My Galatea breathes ! O listening winds, 

Bear them aloft and make them heard in Heaven ! 
M. What profits it, Amyntas, that thy heart 

Is not unkind to me, if while thy steps 

Chase the swift boar, I tarry tending snares ? 
D. Have Phyllis, Iollas, at my birth-day feast ! 

When for good crops I sacrifice, come thou ! 
M. Beyond all others Phyllis is my own. 

She wept, Iollas, when I turned to go, 

And sighing said " My handsome lad, farewell! " 
D. Wolves are a shepherd's bane; the heavy showers 

Our ripening harvest spoil, and storms the trees; 

'Tis angry Amaryllis troubles me. 
M. Sweet to the thirsty corn is falling dew, 

Buds to a weanling, willows to its dam; 

To me the fair Amyntas, only he. 
D. My simple songs have mighty Pollio's praise. 

Feed a fair victim, Muses, for your friend ! 
M. Hear Pollio's own high song ! Feed yonder bull 

With tossing horn and hoof that paws the sand. 
D. Let him who loves thee, Pollio, attain 

To honors like thy own ! Honey shall flow 

For him, and the rough briar yield him fruit. 
M. Who hates not Bavius is doomed to smile 

When Maevius sings; then let him also choose 

Foxes to draw his plough, he-goats to milk. 
D. Ye lads who stoop for flowers and strawberries, 

Beware ! a cold snake coils in yonder green. 



94-111] ECLOGUE III 137 

M. Run not too far, my flock ! Yon river-bank 
Caves in. See the wet ram his fleeces shake! 

D. From yon swift stream, my Tityrus, turn back 
The feeding she-goats. When the day arrives, 
I '11 dip them one and all in some safe spring. 

M. Gather the flock, ye shepherds ! lest the heat 
Strike to the milk, and we as yester-year 
Press the lean udders with a fruitless palm. 

D. Alas, how lank 'mid yon full blooming mead 
My bull appears ! The self-same plague of love 
Drives both the herd and master to one doom. 

M. See my young lambs, how scrawny ! No love there ! 
Whose evil eye has charmed them to their bane ? 

D. Say in what land — (and be like Phoebus wise!) 
The vault of heaven but three ells wide is spread. 

M. Say in what land the flowers grow scriptured o'er 
With names of kings — and make my Phyllis thine ! 

P. I cannot choose betwixt your rival songs. 
Thou earn'st the heifer, he no less, and all 
Who either feel love sweet or feel it sour. 
Then close the flood-gates, lads ! Earth has her fill ! 



ECLOGUE IV 

POLLIO 

Sicilian Muses, let the shepherd's rhyme 
A loftier theme pursue. Not all delight 
In copses green and humble hedge-row flowers. 
Yet may this music please our consul's ear! 

Now come the world's last days, the age foretold 

By Cumae's prophetess in sacred song. 

The vast world-process brings a new-born time. 

Once more the Virgin comes and Saturn's reign, 

Behold a heaven-born offspring earthward hies ! 

Holy Lucina, lend thy light and aid 

The while this child is born before whose power 

The iron race of mortals shall away, 

And o'er this earth a golden people reign, 

For blest Apollo is at last their king. 

Under thy fasces, Pollio, forth shall shine 

This glory of our age; guided by thee 

These potent times begin, which if there be 

Some stain still with us of our nation's crime, 

Shall blot it out and from perpetual fear 

Set the world free. For he of whom I sing 

Will have a life divine, and as of old 

See kings and heroes with great gods confer, 

Himself their counsel sharing, while he rules 

Like a good father o'er a warless world. 

138 



18-39] ECLOGUE IV 139 

For tributes at thy birth, O blessed babe, 
The untilled earth with wandering ivies wild 
Shall mingle spikenard, and from bounteous breast 
Pour forth her lilies and Egyptian balm; 
The flock shall come unguided to the fold 
Flowing with milk; nor shall the feeding sheep 
At the huge lion tremble; fragrant flowers 
Shall from thy cradle spring; . the viper's brood 
Shall perish, every baneful herb shall fail, 
And orient spices by the wayside bloom. 

Soon as this child the scriptured story spells 
Of glorious heroes and the mighty deeds 
His father wrought, soon as his soul shall see 
What beauty virtue wears, — in those blest days 
The unploughed field shall yellowing harvests show, 
Full, purple grapes be plucked of wilding thorn, 
And hard-limbed oaks distil sweet honey dew. 
Some traces may remain of that old guile, 
Which bade men vex with ships the sacred sea, 
Or circle towns with stone, or scar earth's breast 
With furrows. But another Argo then 
Shall carry chosen heroes, at her helm 
Another Tiphys sitting; other wars 
Shall blaze abroad and once again compel 
High-souled Achilles to the Trojan town. 
Yet when in after-time the strengthening years 
Have made thee man, from kingdoms of the sea 
The trader's sail shall cease, nor to and fro 
With foreign cargoes ply from shore to shore. 
Each land shall all things bear; the patient ground 



140 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [40-63 

Shall feel no mattock, nor the vine a knife. 
The brawny ploughmen from the laboring yoke 
Shall let their bulls go free. No woven wool 
Shall flaunt its stolen hues; the ram himself 
Shall in the meadows wear the Tyrian stain, 
Or change to saffron; and vermilion gay 
Shall mantle all unsought the feeding lambs. 

" Thus let the ages ever onward roll! " 

So sang the Fates, turning their spindles round, 

Obedient to the fixed decree of doom. 

Receive this glory, for thy day is risen, 

Thou child of gods, offspring of mighty Jove ! 

Look, how the round world with its burden reels, 

Its far-spread shores and seas and searchless sky! 

Look, with what joy it hails the time to be ! 

Oh, may such length of days be granted me, 

And skill, as shall suffice thy deeds to tell! 

Not then would Thracian Orpheus' heavenly strains 

Nor Linus' voice outdo me; though to one 

His mother gave the song, to one his sire — 

The Muse to Orpheus, Phoebus to his son. 

Yea, Pan himself, though all Arcadia heard, 

Would own Pan vanquished in Arcadia's ear. 

Begin, boy-babe ! Give back thy mother's smile 
Who ten long moons her weary sickness bore ! 
Begin, boy-babe! If parents give no smile, 
What god would sup with thee, or goddess wed ? 



ECLOGUE V 

Menalcas, Mopsus 

Now that we twain are met, each with some skill, 

Thou to give breath to slender reeds and I 

To utter verses, why not rest awhile 

Where elms and hazels mix their leafy boughs ? 

Mo. The elder thou, Menalcas, 'tis my place 
To follow thee, whither with gentle stir 
The busy zephyrs fling a trembling shade, 
Or to some cavern cool. See yonder cave 
Where the wild wood-bine spreads its rambling flower. 

Men. Except Amyntas, on our native hills 
Thou hast no rival. 

Mo. And he would make bold 

To challenge Phoebus' self in rival song. 

Men. Mopsus, begin! Thy sighs for Phyllis tell, 
Or praise for Alcon, or for Codrus scorn. 
Begin! Our flocks are Tityrus' care. 

Mo. Nay, let me try the song I lately carved 

On a young beech, and tuned the numbers true 
With pipe and voice, — these let me sing once more. 
And judge thou if I be Amyntas' peer. 

Men. As drooping willows to the silver leaf 

Of olive, or some lowly thorn-bush bloom 
Beside the red rose, such, if choice were mine, 
To thy sweet music is Amyntas' song. 

141 



142 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [19-43 

Mo. Cease, shepherd ! To the cave our steps have come. 

The Song 
His doom of cruel death struck Daphnis down; 
The wood-nymphs wail; and witness of their tears, 
Dark hazel copse and murmuring river mourn. 
Clasping in last embrace her son's cold clay, 
On all the gods and on the pitiless stars 
His mother calls. None drove at such a time 
The pastured bulls to where cool waters run; 
No stream, O Daphnis, and no tender grass 
Touched any four-foot creature's lip that day. 
For death of Daphnis Libya's lions fell 
Moaned loud, and from the wooded mountain tops 
Sad voices flew abroad; for in his car 
Armenian tigers Daphnis' bidding knew, 
When Bacchus' troop he led to dances gay, 
Twining with ivy-leaf his sacred wand. 
As vines to trees, to vines the clustering grape, 
To herds the bulls, to fields the harvest fair, 
Wert thou to all our land the pride and crown. 
When fate withdrew thee, Pales from our farms 
And Phoebus went away. For where we ploughed 
Sowing a goodly seed, forthwith upsprang 
Ill-boding darnel and a blighted straw; 
For violet sweet and red narcissus bloom, 
Thistles and haws thrust forth an angry thorn. 
Strew flowers along the turf, ye shepherds all, 
And wreathe with cypress every fountain's brim. 
'Tis Daphnis' due. Oh, build his lofty tomb, 
Inscribing o'er the mound this votive song: 
My name was Daphnis, dweller in the woods, 



44-64] ECLOGUE V 143 

Famed through the earth and heaven. My flock 

was fair, 
But I myself was fairer far than all. 

Men. We hear thy voice of song, poet divine, 
As when on weary reapers in the grass 
A slumber falls, as when in noon-tide blaze 
We quench our thirst at a fresh, bubbling spring. 
Victor thou art, not only with thy reeds 
But master of the song. O shepherd blest, 
Now is thy glory second but to his 
Of whom thou singest. We with equal praise 
Will make thee answering numbers, if we may, 
And set thy Daphnis with the sacred stars. 
Daphnis our star shall be; he loved us well. 

Mo. What other gift to me were half so dear ? 
Worthy thy skill is he; and Stimicon 
For many a year has spoken of thy song. 

Men. In robe of white, with awed and wondering eyes 
The threshold of Olympus Daphnis views 
And sees beneath his feet the clouds and stars. 
The eager forests and encircling plains, 
Pan with his shepherds, and the wood-nymphs 

fair 
In ecstacy rejoice. No wolf intends 
To hurt our flock; no guileful snare 
Threatens the flying deer; for Daphnis' soul 
Was kindly and he wished all creatures peace. 
The hill-tops sing and lift their heads unshorn 
In gladness to the stars; the rocks and woods 
Echo the sacred song: " A god is he, 
A god, Menalcas! " Oh, forevermore 



144 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [65-84 

Bless and preserve us! For behold I build 

Four lofty altars, Daphnis ! Two are thine, 

And two in Phoebus' praise. Here I will pour 

Two bowls of foaming milk his festal day, 

Two of the pure oil olive vowed to thee; 

But chiefly will I make the banquet gay 

With wine unstinted, drinking at the hearth 

If chill the skies, but in some grateful shade 

If sultry summer shines; from flagons old 

I '11 bid my nectared Chian freely flow. 

Damoetas and my singing boy from Crete, 

Young Aegon, will make music; and our fair 

Alphesiboeus trip it in the dance 

As laughing satyrs do. Such be the joy 

Of thy great holiday: whether in Spring 

We offer to the nymphs a votive song 

Or move with lustral rite and annual prayer 

Through Autumn's whitened field. For while the 

boar 
Loves lofty hills, or fish the quiet stream, 
While crickets taste of dew and bees of thyme, 
So long thy name endures and storied praise. 
As unto Bacchus' or to Ceres' power, 
So unto thine the rustics' solemn vows 
Shall be performed, as is thy godhead's due. 
Mo. Oh, for such song what guerdon can I give ? 
It stirs me to such joy as when I hear 
The far-off murmurs of the gathering rain, 
Or billow-beaten sands, or when swift streams 
Through rock-bound vales and vocal cliffs out- 
pour. 



85-90] ECLOGUE V 145 

Men. Take first this flute of hemlock; for it told 
" How Cory don for fair Alexis sighed." 
And then " Be yonder Meliboeus' sheep ? " 

Mo. Take thou this crook : which though he asked it oft 
Antigenes, then worth a gift of love, 
Could ne'er obtain. Menalcas, it is thine. 
Its knobs match well; its polished brass how fair! 



ECLOGUE VI 

Varus 

The first who stooped her to Sicilian song 

Nor deemed it shame to dwell in woods and wilds, 

Was the divine Thalia. When I fain 

Would sing of kings and wars, Apollo twitched 

My ear and whispered warning: " Tityrus, 

His well-fed sheep best grace the shepherd's trade, 

And unpresumptuous song." Therefore this day 

(Since, Varus, of thy laurelled name to tell 

And lamentable wars, there will be bards 

In plenty) let me wake my slender reed 

To woo the shepherd's muse. Nor shall I sing 

Unhelped of heaven; for whosoe'er shall heed 

This verse, O Varus, and its beauty feel, 

Shall hear our lowly shrubs and lofty pines 

Singing of thee. And naught so pleases Phoebus 

As the page, Varus, that sets forth thy name. 

Begin, Pierian choir! In cavern green 
Chromis and Mnasylos, of youthful bloom, 
Found old Silenus in dull slumber laid; 
His veins, as was their wont, were swollen large 
With last night's wine and revel; from his brows 
The flowers were fallen and at distance strewn, 
And o'er him by its handle smooth and worn 
A heavy flagon hung. On him they fell, 

146 



18-39] ECLOGUE VI 147 

For often had the old man mocked them both 

With expectation of a song. So now 

They bound him with the garland cords. For aid 

Came Aegle, loveliest of the naiad throng, 

And o'er his waking brows her finger smeared 

Dark dripping mulberries of purple stain. 

He laughing at their guile, demanded loud, 

" Why bonds and fetters ? Children, set me free! 

Let it content you that for once ye seemed 

My masters. Lo, I give the wished-for song. 

For you the singing; but the nymph shall win 

Payment in other kind." Straightway his lips 

Began enraptured song. Then might be seen 

Light-footed fauns and creatures of the wild 

All tripping to his measure, and stout oaks 

Nodding their top-most boughs. With not less joy 

Parnassus stirred when golden Phoebus sang, 

Nor less did Rhodope and Ismara 

Listen in awe when Orpheus smote the lyre. 

He sang how gathered from the vast inane 

The seeds of earth, of waters and the winds 

Were mixed with flowing fire; how sprung from these 

The primal elements began, and shaped 

One soft conglomerate ball, the new-born world. 

Then the lands hardened, and the sea's confine 

Was given for Nereus' dwelling, till earth wore 

Diversity of slow-grown shapes; at last 

Earth's fields looked up in wonder and beheld 

The unfamiliar sunshine, and the rains 

That from a loftier welkin now dropped down. 

Then mighty forests rose; and things that breathe 



148 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [40-64 

Roamed few and fearful o'er the pathless hills. 
Then Pyrra's stones were scattered, and the earth 
Saw Saturn's reign. He sang Prometheus' woes : 
The stolen fire; the vultures on the peak 
Of Caucasus; and after these the tale 
Of Argo's mariners beside the stream 
Calling for Hylas, till the echoing shore 
Was loud with " Hylas, Hylas! " all day long. 
O happier thou, were no horned creature known, 
Pasiphae ! Thy love's a snow-white bull ! 
O evil-starred, what madness moves thy breast! 
King Proteus' daughters by the curse impelled 
Lowed frantic through the fields; but never one 
Desired such bestial wooing of foul shame, 
Though each was fearing that her maiden neck 
A yoke must take, and oft would lift her hand 
To her smooth brows, to feel a budding horn. 
O evil-starred, thou wanderest o'er the hills ! 
While thy strange love's white side is haply seen 
Propped on soft hyacinths; or in the gloom 
Of shadowing oak he crops the herbage pale, 
Or fiercely follows through the scattered herds 
Another mate. " O nymphs of Dicte's hill 
Shut all your valley-gates ! Perchance these eyes 
The hoof -prints of my roving bull may find." 
He sang that maid the Hesperian apples gold 
Defeated in her race; and how in tears 
The sisters of lost Phaeton were bound 
By moss and bitter bark and upward grew 
Into tall alder trees. The song then told 
How Gallus strayed by Heliconian springs 



65-86] ECLOGUE VI 149 

And a muse led him with inviting hand 

Up th' Aonian hill, where Phoebus' choir 

Rose up in welcome to their lordly guest; 

And Linus, shepherd, bard of heavenly song, 

His locks with flowers and bitter parsley crowned, 

Spoke thus: " The Muses give thee now the reeds; 

Behold and take what formerly they gave 

The sage of Ascra, who by song on these 

Charmed the stout ash-trees from the mountains down. 

With these thy music shall retell the tale 

Of the Grynean forest's birth, that now 

Of all Apollo's groves shall be most blest." 

What more ? The fame of Scylla, Nisus' child, 

Her white thighs girdled by a howling brood 

Of monsters, when her anger buffeted 

The ships of Ithaca, and, fearful sight! 

Her sea-dogs at the trembling sailors tore. 

Or Tereus' tale was told : what fearful change 

Came o'er his body; the foul banquet spread 

By Philomel; what bloody gift she gave, 

Then flew swift-pinioned to the wilderness, 

But oft returning spread ill-omened wings 

And hovered wailing o'er the royal towers. 

Yea, every strain his blest Eurotas heard 

When Phoebus sang, bidding his laurel trees 

Never forget — all these inspired the song 

Of old Silenus; these in echoing notes 

The music-smitten valleys heavenward flung, 

Until too soon th' evening star divine 

Bade count our sheep and gather to the fold, 

Then moved reluctant through the twilight sky. 



ECLOGUE VII 

Meliboeus, Corydon, Thyrsis 

One day beneath an ilex' tuneful shade 

Daphnis had sat him down, and thitherward 

Had Corydon and Thyrsis driven their flocks, 

Thyrsis his ewes and Corydon his goats 

With udders dripping full. The shepherd pair 

Were both in flower of youth, Arcadians both, 

And well-matched rivals in responsive song. 

To that same spot, while I was sheltering 

My myrtles from the cold, my chief goat strayed — 

The father of the flock; and then I saw 

Our Daphnis; and he knew me too and called, 

" O Meliboeus, the he-goat is safe. 

Thy kids are here. Come take thine ease with us, 

And rest, if free to rest, in this good shade. 

Hither across the meads thy bulls will walk 

Undriven to the stream; for Mincius here 

Has mantled his fair bank with rushes green, 

And from the sacred oak murmur the bees." 

What could I do ? Alcippe was not there, 

Nor Phyllis, to fetch homeward to the fold 

The late- weaned lambs; but oh, a rival song 

'Twixt Corydon and Thyrsis, that were rare! 

My toil and task could wait, such sport to see. 

So both in rivalry of answering song 

Began, with answers prompted by the Muse. 

First Corydon, then Thyrsis, each in turn. 

150 



21-42] ECLOGUE VII 151 

Cor. Grant me, nymphs of Helicon, such song 
As to our Codrus, whose enchanting lays 
Are like Apollo's own. But if such boon 
Be not for all, let my shrill flute be hung 
A votive offering on this haunted pine. 

Thyr. Arcadian shepherds, let green ivy crown 

Your budding poet, till Codrus burst his sides 
With envious pain. But if his puff of praise 
Flatter too far, then crown your bard to be 
With foxglove, to ward off that evil tongue. 

Cor. Diana, the boy Micon vows to thee 

A bristling boar's-head and the branching horns 
Of long-lived stag. If he be fortunate, 
He '11 build thy statue of smooth Parian stone, 
The Tyrian buskin to thine ankles bound. 

Thyr. Priapus, a sweet bowl of milk is thine. 

And though thou askest but our sacred loaves, 
Thine annual gift, thou guard'st a poor man's trees. 
For this one season thou shalt marble be; 
But if my flocks breed fast I '11 make thee gold. 

Cor. O sea-born Galatea, sweet to me 

As thyme on Hybla, whiter than the swan, 
Lovelier than ivy pale ! when to my barns 
The well-fed herds at eve shall homeward move, 
If Cory don be near thy heart, come thou ! 

Thyr. Oh, think me ranker than Sardinian straw, 

Rough as a furze-bush, vile as sea-weeds flung 



152 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [43-62 

Along the sands, if this one absent day- 
Travel not slower than a livelong year. 
Home with you! Shame! Ye well-fed herds run home! 

Cor. O mossy springs and grasses soft as sleep ! 
O roof of arbute shadows o'er them spread! 
Protect my flock at noon-tide ! For 'tis now 
The summer's fiery star; our vineyards glad 
Put forth full-swelling clusters day by day. 

Thyr. My hearth is piled with faggots of pitch-pine. 
Free burns my faithful fire, and every hour 
My walls are black with smoke; we heed no more 
The frosts of Boreas than the wild wolf fears 
The gathered sheep, or swollen stream its shore. 

Cor. Our groves are juniper and chestnuts brown, 
The fallen fruit lies under each fair tree, 
The whole world smiles ; but from these hills and dales 
Should beautiful Alexis wander far, 
Believe me, not a mountain brook would flow. 

Thyr. Our field is burnt up; in the tainted air 

All greenness dies, and Bacchus shades no more 
The vine-clad slopes; but at the glad return 
Of sweetest Phyllis, every bush will bloom 
And Jove from heaven drop down the wished-for 
showers. 

Cor. Hercules loves the poplars, Bacchus vines, 
Fair Venus myrtles, and Apollo bays; 
Phyllis likes hazels, and while these she likes 
Myrtles nor Phoebus' bays shall hazels match. 



63-70] ECLOGUE VII 153 

Thyr. Ash trees suit best the woods, pines garden 
ground, 
Poplars the brooks, and firs the mountain 

heights; 
But lovely Lycidas, when thou returnst 
Wild ash and garden pine give place to thee. 

M. So much is sure : that Thyrsis strove in vain. 
Cory don is our bard from this time forth. 



ECLOGUE VIII 

Damon, Alphesiboeus 

When Damon and Alphesiboeus woo 

The muse of shepherds, at the rival song 

The herd forgets to pasture, lynxes wild 

Stand dumbly wondering, the brooks and streams 

Turn back their listening waters and are still. 

Let Damon and Alphesiboeus sing! 

O thou whose ship in wide Timavus' wave 
Toils up the rock-strewn channel, or steers true 
From cape to cape along th' Illyrian shore, 
Prithee what welcome day shall bid me sing 
Thy victories, or praise in every land 
Thy verse, than which none fitlier at this hour 
Might tread in tragic sock the Attic stage. 
My muse with thee was born and ends with thee. 
Receive (thy bidding woke them) these, my songs, 
And with the conqueror's laurels on thy brows 
Let humbler sprays of wandering ivy twine. 
When night's cold shade had scarcely fled the sky, 
That hour when on the fresh, green grass the dew 
Delights our feeding flocks, lo, Damon stood 
Propped on his olive crook, and thus complained: 

D. Rise, morning-star, lead forth the blessed day ! 
But I, betrayed, undone, make mournful tale 
Of Nysa my lost mistress' faithless love; 



19-42] ECLOGUE VIII 155 

And though yon gods witnessed her oaths in vain 
Still now in my last hour on you I call. 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song! 

The hill of Maenalus has whispering pines 
And all its pine trees sing. It hears the loves 
Of shepherds and the ancient pipes of Pan, 
Who bade the slender reeds not tuneless be. 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song ! 

Nysa in Mopsus* arms ! Let love despair ! 
Let mares with griffins wed, and times to be 
Bring timid does and dogs to drink one stream! 

Mopsus cut thee torches ! Scatter nuts, 
Thou bridegroom ! For behold, the evening-star 
On Oeta's mountain hails thy wedding night ! 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song ! 

'Tis a most fitting match ! O scornful girl, 
Too proud for shepherds, thou dost quite disdain 
My pipe of reeds, my she-goats on the hill, 
My shaggy brows and beard that flows too free; 
Thou thinkest gods are deaf when lovers pray. 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song ! 

Through our own garden-close I guided thee, 
Thee a small maiden at thy mother's side, 
In search of dewy apples. My twelfth year 
Had scarce begun, yet standing on the ground 

1 reached and broke the bending boughs for thee. 
I saw thee and was lost, blind, mad, a slave! 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song! 



156 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [43-63 

I know that love-god now. By flinty crags 
Of Tmaros or of Thracian Rhodope, 
Or of the Afric wilderness he sprung — 
A boy inhuman, not our blood or breed ! 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song! 

Unpitying love a mother's hands imbrued 
With blood of her own babes. A mother-heart 
So hard ! Was hers a mother's cruelty, 
Or rather was the god implacable ? 
Implacable the god ! the mother too ! 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song ! 

Now let wolves run from sheep, let rugged oak 
Bear golden apples, let all worthless weeds 
Drop amber ! Give to owls the voice of swans ! 
Be Tityrus an Orpheus when he sings, 
An Orpheus to the listening woods and hills, 
And drive Arion's dolphins o'er the seas ! 
Awake, my flute, awake Arcadian song! 

Oh, let the seas drown all! O woods and hills 
Farewell forever! From some far-seen crag, 
Some windy mountain-top, I'll hurl me down 
To the deep gulf below ! And such shall be 
My parting gift to Nysa as I die. 
Give o'er, my flute ! give o'er Arcadian song ! 

Thus Damon. How Alphesiboeus sang 
In answer, tell us, O Pierian maids ! 
No single singer touches all the chords. 



64-83] ECLOGUE VIII 157 

A. Bring water forth, and wreathe the altar round 
With woolen fillets. Burn me fragrant boughs 
And incense rich and strong. Now must I try 
My lover's sober senses to control 
With arts of magic and enchanting songs. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home my song! 

Songs of enchantment can draw down the moon 
From heaven; Ulysses' crew to brutes were changed 
By Circe's spell; and bursting at the sound 
The cold-skinned meadow-snake is slain by song. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song ! 

With triple threads of changeful colors three 
I wind thee round. Thrice round the altar then 
Thy image goes. Odd numbers please the gods. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song! 

Let Amaryllis weave in triple strand 
Three colors, whispering as her fingers wind, 
" I, Amaryllis, weave me Venus' chain." 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song! 

As harder grows the clay and wax melts down, 
Touched by the self-same fire, may love of me 
Soften my Daphnis' heart and keep him true! 
Crumble the wheaten cake! Let torch of pine 
These laurel leaves enkindle! Daphnis' power 
Sets all my soul on fire; and like this bough 
Of burning laurel may my Daphnis burn ! 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song ! 



158 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [84-107 

May such a love seize Daphnis as consumes 
The roving heifer when she seeks her mate 
Through copse or lofty forest wandering far, 
And wearied flings her in the sedges green 
Nigh some full stream, by long desire outworn, 
Nor heeds the homeward call of lingering eve. 
Such love be his. Nor would I seek his cure. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song! 

These keepsakes, look ! these garments left behind 
For pledges of his love ! I bury them 
Under my door-stone, O deep Earth, in thee, 
To pledge me Daphnis in my house will bide. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song! 

These potent herbs and Pontic poisons rare 
I had of Moeris. Pontus grows them best. 
And oft would Moeris, tasting them, become 
A wolf and prowl the woods, or by their power 
Call spirits out of graves, or charm away 
A planted crop to fill some stranger's field. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song! 

Bring embers, Amaryllis, from thy door, 
And o'er some flowing river fling them free 
Over thy head, but cast no look behind ! 
With these would I my Daphnis' bosom gain, 
Though of all gods and charms quite heedless he. 
Bring Daphnis from the city home, my song ! 

But look! a little tongue of trembling flame 
Leaps on the windless altar while I wait. 



108-110] ECLOGUE VIII 159 

Heaven help us ! What this means I do not know, 

But Hylax at the door is barking, ah ! 

Believe it, can I ? Or do lovers still 

Feign dreams to suit themselves ? Nay, cease my 

song! 
For from the city Daphnis homeward comes. 



ECLOGUE IX 

Lycidas, Moeris 

L. Where bound, my Moeris ? Runs thy road to town ? 

M. O Lycidas, today we live to see 

Something we never feared — a foreigner 

Holding our little farm, who harshly cries, 

" These lands are mine. Ye dwellers of old time, 

Away with you! " And we submit to this, 

We wretched ones; for Chance and Fortune's power 

Change all things. We are sending him today 

Two kids — and may the gift no blessing be ! 

L. Why, I had heard that where yon hills begin 
Uprising, where the smooth, descending slopes 
Sink to the valley and the waterside, 
Past the old beech trees whose tall tops decay — 
Menalcas sang so well he saved it all. 

M. 'Twas a wide-spread report. But poets' songs 
O Lycidas, when steel-clad Mars appears, 
Are mighty as Dodona's sacred doves 
When swoops an eagle down. Save that to me 
Shrill warning at all cost new feuds to shun 
Came from a crow loud shrieking at my left 
From hollow oak, hardly thy Moeris here 
Nor even Menalcas were alive today. 

L. Ah! whose such crime ? Came we so nigh to loss 
Of our heart's joy, Menalcas, and of thee ? 
Who else the beauty of our nymphs would sing ? 
Or strew the ground with blossoms, or embower 

160 



20-43] ECLOGUE IX 161 

Our fountains with green shade ? Or who but thee 
Would sing that song I lately overheard 
When thou wert setting forth upon thy way 
To Amaryllis, whom my heart adores ? 
" Till I come back, good Tityrus, I pray 
Feed yonder goats. For I will not be long. 
Drive to the brook when fed; but oh! beware! 
That butting he-goat has a wicked horn.'* 

M. Or that half -finished song in Varus' praise: 
" O Varus, if our Mantua but be spared — 
Ah me ! a Mantua bordering far too near 
On sad Cremona ! — thine immortal name 
Our soaring swans will starward lift in song." 

L. So may thy bees ne'er taste Sardinian yew, 
And may thy cows their swelling udders fill 
With sweetest flowers ! Begin, I pray, thy song, 
Whate'er it be. Me too the Muses bred 
To be a poet and my songs are known; 
The shepherds hail me as a bard, but I 
Heed not their praise nor boast myself to sing 
Things worthy Varus or of Cinna. No ! 
I raise a goose-cry 'mongst melodious swans. 

M. In silence I am running o'er that song 
To see if I remember. 'Tis most rare: 
" O Galatea, come! What pleasure bides 
In yon cold waves ? Behold the blushing Spring 
Is with us, and the meadow streams flow down 
Through many a flower; a silvered poplar leans 
Above my grotto, and the drooping vines 
Make spots of shadow there. Oh hither come ! 
Leave yon wild, rolling waves that smite the shore." 



162 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [44-67 

L. What was that strain I heard thee sing alone 
One cloudless night ? The measure I recall, 
But not the words. 

M. " Why, Daphnis, asking still 

What fate the ancient constellations bring ? 
Behold the star of Caesar takes the sky, 
Dione's heir; the star of fruitful fields, 
That clothes the clusters on the sunny slopes 
With purple pride. Go, Daphnis, graft thy pears! 
Sons of thy sons shall gather them in joy." 
Ah, time takes all we have, the memory too. 
Oft in my boyhood, I remember well, 
I spent long summer days in song; but now 
The verses come not back; and even his voice 
Is leaving Moeris. Probably some wolf 
Set eye on Moeris first. No matter though! 
Menalcas often will repeat it all. 

L. Look how with words thou hast so long delayed 
My heart's desire. Yonder outspread sea 
Is listening and calm, and every wind 
Its airy whisper stills. Here where we stand 
Is halfway to the town; Bianor's tomb 
Just rises into view; the rustics here 
Have built a leafy shade. Here let us sing. 
Here, Moeris, set the two kids on the ground. 
We reach the town full soon. But if we fear 
The night may meet us with a gathering rain 
Let us go forward singing, for the path 
Tires us less so. And that we may walk on 
Still singing, let me ease thee of thy load. 

M. Nay, Nay ! good friend. Let us to business now! 
Songs will be better with Menalcas by. 



ECLOGUE X 

Gallus 

Smile, Arethusa, on this parting lay ! 
'Tis for my Gallus. Let Lycoris hear! 
Perforce I sing; for if my Gallus grieve, 
Who could refuse a song ? So may thy flood 
That flows in secret through Sicilian seas 
Mix with no bitter wave ! Awake and sing 
What love and cruel anguish Gallus knew. 
My flat-nosed goats will crop the leafage green. 
Yet sing we not unheard; the woods reply. 

O pitying nymphs in what dim grove or glade 

Stood ye far off while Gallus pined away 

With unrequited love ? What held your feet 

On slope Parnassian or on Pindus' crest, 

Or by th' Aonian rill ? Their mournful tears 

The laurel and the flowery tamarisk shed; 

And where by some lone cliff he lay forlorn, 

Pine-mantled Maenalus and stony steeps 

Of cold Lycaeus mourned the shepherd's woe. 

His flock stood round him, of our human tears 

Not heedless or ashamed; nor shame feel thou, 

O heavenly poet, that thou tendest sheep 

As once Adonis in his beauty's pride 

Pastured a flock beside a silver stream. 

The herdsman came, and swineherds trudging slow, 

163 



164 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [20-42 

Menalcas, too, his mantle drenched with dew, 

Came from his acorn-gathering, and all asked 

How such a passion grew. Apollo came : 

"My Gallus, why this madness ? " said the god, 

" For fair Lycoris, thy fond heart's desire, 

Now at thy rival's side is following him 

Through northern snows and din of dreadful war." 

Silvanus came, wreathed with a rustic crown, 

That shook with lilies large and fennel flowers. 

Pan came, Arcadia's god, — I knew him well — 

Smeared red with elder juice and cinnabar, 

" Canst thou not quit ? " he cried, " Love heeds thee not ! 

For cruel Love feeds on a lover's tears, 

As grass on rain, or bees on honied flowers, 

Or goats on leaves." Then spoke the sad swain thus: 

" Arcadian shepherds, in these hills some day 

Ye will make verses on my love and tears. 

Who but Arcadians have a voice to sing ? 

Ah then how softly shall my bones repose 

While your sweet pipes play forth my heart's sad song ! 

Would I were one of you ! and of your flocks 

A keeper, or could prune your purpling vines ! 

Surely had Phyllis ever been my love, 

Amyntas, or whatever flame ye will — 

(Say not 'Amyntas is so dark and brown! ' 

Violets are dark and dark are hyacinths too) 

In willow copses under trailing vines 

My love and I would lie, while Phyllis there 

Would weave me garlands and Amyntas sing. 

Here, O Lycoris, are cool-flowing rills, 

Here softest grass and haunts of woodland shade, 



43-65] ECLOGUE X 165 

Here in thine arms my whole life long should be. 

Now the blind passion of unpitying war 

Clothes me in steel and bids me captive be 

'Mid thronging swords and foes in stern array; 

While thou in exile — would it all were lies ! — 

Lookest on snow-clad Alp and ice-bound Rhine 

Alone, and not with me. Oh, harmless blow 

The wintry winds ! and from the sharp-edged ice 

May thy white, lovely feet no wound receive! 

I must away! and let Euphorion's strain, 

My memory's treasure, lend some skilful note 

To a Sicilian shepherd's untaught reed. 

I am resolved in woods and caverns wild 

To meet Love's sorrow, and to write its song 

Upon the trees; then as these greater grow 

So shall my faithful love. . And I will roam 

Where voices of the wood-nymphs sweetly call 

To windy Maenalus. Or savage boars 

I will pursue; no frosty chill of morn 

To me and my swift hounds shall make delay 

As through Arcadian glades our hunting goes. 

Already in my dreams I speed along 

Through rock-bound pass and woodlands echoing far, 

And shoot right merrily my Cretan barb 

From horn-tipped Parthian bow. As if in this 

Were medicine for my madness, or as if 

That god could learn to pity human woe. 

Nay ! Nymph and song please me no more. 

Farewell ye groves! Nothing we do moves him. 

He will have no compassion, though we drink 

The freezing stream of Hebrus, or should face 



166 GEORGICS AND ECLOGUES [66-77 

The Thracian snows and clouded wintry gloom; 
Nor if we led our flocks where lofty trees 
Shrivel with noonday heat, and where the star 
Of Cancer burns o'er Aethiopian sands. 
Love masters all. We, too, submit to love." 

But now full long, O blest Pierian maids, 
Your poet has been singing, while he wove 
A basket of green mallow. By your aid 
May all be fit to soothe our Gallus' ear ! 
Gallus, for whom my love and honor grow 
Larger each hour, as in the prime of Spring 
The alder leaf unfolds. But let us go ! 
The darkness of the night works hurtful change 
Upon a shepherd's voice; the junipers 
Love not the darkness, and the ripening fields 
Thrive not in shadow. Home ye mother-goats ! 
Run home full-fed ! Behold the evening-star ! 



